The Third Side of the Triangle
by rmimzadi
Summary: Spock learns that the third side of the triangle, already holding logic and fact, is emotion, a side brought home when his wife dies. Some chapters with adult content, no slash, a stand alone story spanning TOS/TNG Spock.
1. Chapter 1

The scream that resounded through the corridors of the north wing of the ambassadorial complex was horrifying and bone chilling. It was the kind of sound that came from the worst nightmare of any and all of the species in the galaxy. The sound echoed around the hallways and bounced from door to door, followed closely by the thuds of running feet and doors that opened with a soft swish.

Andorian, Tellurite, Betazed. Ionian, Klingon, Human and even Vulcan; all stood at the doorways of their respective suites, in various states of undress, pulled from their individual evening pursuits at the terrifying scream. They glanced warily at each other and sensing no imminent danger, started to congregate in the hallway to discuss what they had heard and what could have possibly caused it.

All but two. Commander David McFey watched the others carefully. He had learned long ago that unless someone was coming at him with a weapon to sit back and observe the situation, make assessments and then take whatever action was necessary. With this group, the scream could have had little more meaning than a sexual encounter gotten out of control.

So he hung back, his shirt hanging loose, his feet bare.

He was an unimpressive man when he wanted to be. David knew how to blend in and disappear, even with the head of dark auburn hair that he sported. There was nothing special about the human. He was of average height, muscular but trim, had acceptable good looks and a firm jaw, and was blessed with green eyes that could cut a man in half with a single look. He knew who he was and he made sure, when needed, that others recognized it. He could just as easily become just one of the boys, relaxed and jovial, while ferreting out information. His comfort at switching from one personality to another, at developing characteristics that garnered confidences that would otherwise remain secret, was what gave him such a value as part of the ambassador's staff.

Beside him, hastily closing a shirt pulled on with speed, stood a Vulcan male. He was typical of the race, tall and slim, with dark brown eyes and even darker brown hair kept clipped and neat. He had been meditating when the scream had interrupted, so he carried with him as he joined his comrade the cloying scent of incense. One of St'van's eyebrows rose as he also perused the company in the hallway, but he followed David's lead by not joining in the general uproar.

Though they were the ambassador's Chief of Staff and personal secretary, respectively, it did not give them the privilege of a room to themselves. Thus the two men were sharing a suite, each with their own bedroom, but with a single living room area.

Though the ambassador's quarters were large enough, there technically was more room in his subordinates' suite and that is where they typically met at the end of each day's meetings to share a meal and discuss their viewpoints.

They'd been on Thesius Six for three days now. The meetings had not been ones of negotiating, but more a conference on sharing thoughts and ideas for the Federation. If some 'back alley deals' were made and all parties were amenable to the terms, then everything was well and good. But this was not a meeting to discuss impending disaster or to make specific trade agreements. It had been planned for six solar months and would last only a week. Thesius Six had been chosen for its neutrality. There was nothing they hoped to gain from the meetings, except possibly the good will of those ambassadors who were part of the conference.

"Commander?" St'van questioned softly.

"Don't know," he replied, just as softly. "That did sound like someone was in a hell of a lot of pain, but everyone seems fine."

From the left, at the end of the corridor, three Thesian guards came running at the summons of one of the representatives, weapons at the ready just in case. "Gentlemen," a Thesian captain said, "what is the problem?"

"Someone screamed," the Klingon answered harshly. David hadn't noticed at first, but now he saw that the Klingon held a dirk in his hand, spinning it around within his grip as a man who knew well how to use it. The Klingon was obviously keen on shedding the last three days of tedious meetings and looking for a way to work off some pent up energy.

"Screamed?" the Thesian asked in disbelief.

The sibilant voice of the Andorian cut in. "There was a horrible cry, as if someone was in great pain." He had folded his blue hands within his tunic sleeves and was the epitome of calm, cool, and collected even in the face of unknown danger.

"Are any of you hurt?" the Captain questioned, looking them all over. They each exchanged glances then shook their heads or answered in the negative. The Thesian noticed the human and Vulcan standing separate from the others. "You gentlemen all right?"

"We are unharmed," St'van replied with a slight dip of his head. Tensions began to visibly relax. The Tellurite, looking disgusted at having been disturbed, went back into his room. He would have slammed the door if he had been able.

David frowned as he glanced to the left of where they were standing. "Where's the Ambassador?"

St'van now also looked to the left. The ambassador's room was right next to theirs. Everyone had heard the noise, yet he had not appeared, even if out of curiosity. His door remained closed.

"He was meditating," St'van recalled as David moved to the closed door. When it didn't open automatically, he punched in the code to override the lock. He was always permitted access to the ambassador unless otherwise specifically told.

The door slid open with a near silent hiss.

The interior was dimly lighted and smoky from incense. David waved his hand across his face to dispel some of the smoke as he tapped the ventilation switch to clear the room. "Lumens," he ordered, "one hundred per cent." The lights immediately brightened. All appeared to be quiet, until the sound of breaking glass came from the bedroom area of the quarters. Quickly, David, St'van moved into the bedroom followed by the three Thesian guards.

It was in a shambles. Chairs were turned over, the linens from the bed pulled and dumped on the floor. A pillow was shredded, its contents scattered on the bed, the floor, and the table tops. The mirror over the dresser was smashed. A vase that had been on a night table lay shattered next to the left side of the bed. From the right side of the bed a loud groan, a sob, could be heard and the men went over to stare down in disbelief.

Spock lay curled up on his side, his hands fisted to his temples, still for just a moment until his body writhed in agony and he cried out in unendurable pain. 'NO!"

"Spock!" David yelled, going down on one knee to grab at the stricken man. "Spock!" The Vulcan fought David, twisting to free himself and it took both he and St'van to subdue him as agony ripped through him again. "Spock," David called again, gripping the Vulcan tightly until he stilled. Taking him by the shoulders, David forced Spock to straighten, turning him so they could see him, to see if he had been injured. His face was a mask of horror and desolation. His hand was cut from broken glass.

St'van knelt down and lightly touched the temple of the ambassador, withdrawing quickly as he was flooded with images of pain and sorrow and loss. He gasped as his breath caught and he sank to the floor, dread filling his expression. From just that brief connection, tears filmed the Vulcan secretary's eyes. "_Shakiak_," he muttered, before turning his gaze to David. "His marriage bond is broken. His wife is dead."

"What do you mean?" David asked harshly.

"Madam Spock has died. He feels it through his marriage bond and it is driving him insane."

"How…wha…?"

St'van rose to his knees, cutting off David's questions. "Hurry, Commander. If he is not given a reason to live, he will die. It is what happens when a marriage bond is abruptly severed. You must meld with him."

"What do you mean, _I_ must meld with him?"

"You are his friend, you have melded before. I have not. You are the only one who can save him, keep him alive until we get to Vulcan. He can be helped further there. But you must do this now, or he will follow his wife into whatever realm the _katra_ goes when it dies."

David sat still for a heartbeat, his thoughts whirling. Spock's wife, dead? The possibility of it was unthinkable. They had just started out, their life together young and new yet. Spock had finally found his soul mate and now she was dead? He couldn't believe it, he would not accept it. And Spock. To lose him as well? To have that brilliant mind torn apart to go insane, to die because he could not live without his wife? David would rather the Federation fall before he would let that happen. But his _aduna_, dead? It simply _could not _be true!

But Spock knew it. And it was tearing him apart. He cried out again, screamed. "No, no, NO! C'thanae!" he cried piteously, struggling again to shake off David. The human held on tighter. Held on for dear life. For both of them.

"Commander!" St'van ordered sternly.

"What do I do?"

"Place your hands on his face as you have seen him do. I will connect you. Fight him, do not let him give in to the sorrow. It will be terrible, for you both, but he will let himself die if you can not make him want to live." David laid Spock flat on the floor and bent over him. St'van spared a glance to the night table long enough to locate the comm switch. He punched it with a finger as he leaned towards David. "Arkansas," he commanded, "beam us up with a medical emergency. Beam us up now!" He changed one finger of one hand and positioned the other hand completely differently, then settled his own hands over David's. His eyelids fell as he created a link between the two. David choked then gasped as he was sucked in. The three were already shimmering out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

_Blackness!_

_Swirling darkness!_

_Pain!_

_No, No!_

_Endless void._

_Smoky gray and black, drifting, drifting._

_It can not be!_

_Agony!_

_No, no!_

Spock!

_Bursts of light, bright, bright, brighter!_

_Black, night black, dead black._

_Severing, floating, drifting through endless corridors of darkness._

_She's gone!_

Spock!

_Sarek, your son._

_So human._

_It is illogical to show emotion. Your expression of hate was unworthy of a Vulcan, and my son._

_They called you traitor._

They called your mother whore.

_You are accepted at the Vulcan Science Academy despite your disadvantage_

_._

_Then I must respectfully decline. Live long and prosper._

_If you leave, you are no son of mine. You will be vre'kasht._

_Spock, please!_

_Mother, I must find my own way._

You proved yourself worthy and more.

_Drifting, shifting, black smoke, bursting flashes._

_Pain. Heart pain._

_No, no! I can not bear it!_

_Cadet Spock, you have graduated at the top of your class_

_. _

_Assigned to USS Enterprise as Second Officer, Science Officer under Captain Christopher Pike._

He was your first commander. He cared.

_Spock, if you continue, you'll be in violation of Starfleet General Order Seven._

_Must help Captain Pike._

_You'll be executed if found guilty._

You gave him back his life.

_James Kirk, brash, emotional. Unsure of Vulcan First Officer._

_Cowboy diplomacy._

_My first command._

_A flare?_

_An act of desperation. Rescue. It was logical._

_Pain, agony, heartbreak._

_Weep for the children. No kill I._

_Shifting, flying, blackness all around. _

_A yawning void, endless, endless, endless._

Spock, stay with me.

_The creature within me is gone._

_I am also quite blind. An equitable trade, Doctor._

_Dammit, Bones!_

_Leonard McCoy, beads and rattles._

_Cures worse than illness._

_Green blooded, pointy eared, hobgoblin._

_Swirling, swirling, smoky black and endless._

_T'Pring, parted from me and never parted. My wife._

_Are thee human or are thee Vulcan?_

_My heart burns. My eyes burn. T'Pau, forbid!_

_You may find that having is not so great a thing as wanting. Not logical._

_Live long and prosper._

_I shall do neither. I've killed my captain and my friend._

_Jim! Jim!_

_McCoy and his underhanded tricks. He saved Jim._

He saved you both.

_They make a soothing sound._

_Fortunately, I am unaffected by it._

You liked the little pests as much as anyone else on board.

_They do have one redeeming quality. They do not talk too much._

_We gave them to the Klingons. _

They deserved every single one of them for their treachery.

_You're afraid to feel._

_You wouldn't know what to do with a genuine feeling._

_Really, Doctor?_

_Must help Kirk._

_C'thanae, No! Why? Why are you leaving me?_

_Captain, the ambassador and his wife are my parents._

_He's your father, Spock! Oh, go to him. You are the only one who can save him._

_Mother, I can not. The ship is in danger and I am in command._

_I'll hate you for the rest of my life._

_Mother!_

_Logic, logic, logic! Do you want to know what I think of your logic?_

_McCoy, pushing, prodding. Annoying. Stay with Zarabeth._

_You've turned into your ancestors five thousand years before you were born!_

_Must go back, have to go back._

Come back to all of us, Spock.

_No, no , no. Don't leave me, C'thanae. _

_Don't leave me alone again._

I am with you, Spock.

_Who? _

David. Stay, Spock. Stay with us.

_Kohlinahr. Through which all emotion is renounced and shed._

_Your thoughts, Spock, give them to me._

_You must search elsewhere for your answer. You will not find it here._

_I should have known. V'ger is barren, cold…no beauty._

_This simple feeling is beyond V'ger's comprehension._

_Is this all that I am?_

You stayed on the Enterprise. You found there was more.

_It was home._

_Save the ship. Save Jim and McCoy._

_Remember._

_Pain, agony, flesh burning, breath harsh. Choking, scorching, blindness._

_Do not grieve for me. The needs of the many -_

_Outweigh the needs of the few - or the one._

_Spunau bolayalar t'Wehku bolayalar t'Zamu il t'veh._

_I have been and ever shall be your friend._

_Spock, no. Piteous, weeping. _

_What did you think of my solution to the Kobyashi Maru?_

You were reborn. Given a second chance.

_Saavik. Dom. It is called pon farr. Keyh-sahla._

_Spock, for god's sakes, talk to me._

_You stuck this damned thing in my head, remember? Help me._

_It seems I've missed you. I don't know if I could stand to miss you again._

He wouldn't admit it, but he loved you.

_Forgive me, T'Lar, my logic is uncertain where my son is concerned._

He loved you, too. He just couldn't say it.

_I choose the danger. Helluva time to ask._

_If I hadn't tried, the cost would have been my soul._

_Ship? Out of danger?_

_You saved the ship. You saved us all._

_How do you feel?_

You learned to feel, to have feelings. To live without emotion is to not live.

_Guess? You, Spock? Why that's extraordinary._

_Tell her, I feel fine._

And you did. You are discovering yourself.

_Sarek, mother needs you. Why do you leave?_

_It is my duty. She understands._

_Spock, forgive your father. _

_Mother, I can not. His place is here, at your side, in your time of need._

_Remember I love you, my son._

_Mother!_

_She called for you, with her dying breath. Is this what it means to be Vulcan?_

_Jim, did it ever occur to you when you were climbing that mountain that you could've been killed?_

_I knew I wouldn't die because the two of you were with me. I've always known I'll die alone._

_I hide no pain. I am not the outcast boy you left behind. I have found myself._

_I have lost a brother._

He gave his life to save you.

_I lost a brother once. I was lucky I got him back._

He needed your brilliance to offset his intuition_._

_Row, row, row your boat. Life is but a dream._

You found your dream in her.

_C'thanae, why? Why do you leave me?_

_Flying, flying, flying, into the void, into the darkness._

_Valeris, I had such hopes for you. _

_Why did you betray me?_

_Deeper, further, alone, alone._

_Twisting, twisting, torn apart._

_Ripped. Shorn asunder._

_Kirk is dead. How can this be? Jim!_

All men die. He took risks. He knew the risks.

_I should have been there. He was alone. He should not be dead._

It wasn't your fault. You couldn't always be with him, Spock.

_He was alone. If I had only been there…_

He made his own decisions. He was an adult. It wasn't your fault.

_Jim! Why couldn't you wait for one of us to be with you?_

I am with you, Spock. Stay with me.

_C'thanae. Why did you leave?_

_How have you gone? Why?_

_C'thanae? Where are you? I can not find you._

I am here Spock. I am with you.

_Who?_

It is David, Spock. I am here.

_Touches, soft, gentle._

_Cool flesh against hot skin._

_Perfumed hair. Silky. Sweet laughter._

She saw only you. Always you.

_Blue eyes turned violet in passion - all for him._

_She is gone. I am alone._

_I am alone - _

_Again._

No, I am with you.

_I need her with me. I need her love._

I love you, Spock. Carolyn loves you. Amanda loves you.

_No, not family._

Then I will be your family. We will be your family.

_She was my heart. _

_C'thia._

_Reality -truth._

_My c'thanae._

She loved you. You were her heart.

_Soulmate. C'thanae. True life. My truth._

_I need her to complete me. _

_I need her to save me._

I will save you. I give my life to you. Take it with my blessing.

_David? You would give your life?_

Yes I will give my life, for you.

_You would be t'hy'la._

Yes, I will be t'hy'la for you. Stay with me, Spock. Stay with me, brother.

_Brother?_

I am your brother. I love you, Spock. Don't go.

_I have to find her._

She is gone.

Tushah nash-veh k'odu. I grieve with thee.

_No! _

_C'thanae! _

_Janeen!_


	3. Chapter 3

Ambassador Spock was vexed. He didn't like being vexed. He didn't like that he didn't like being vexed. But Federation President Joachim A Halil had dumped the problem of the argument between the colonists and their host planet Gamma Tau Iota right into his lap. He was leaving in two days. And while the problem didn't seem overly difficult, at the same time, A Halil had given him a list of do's and don't's. Spock had full reign on how to accomplish his task, as long as he did do this and didn't do that.

How to do it is what vexed him. He was strolling the Old Market in San Fransisco while turning the possibilities over in his mind. He found that the noise, activity and chaos outside his head helped him to sift through the same in his head, clarifying answers and solutions.

While he strolled, he had his office in a 'busy as bees' situation, being overseen by the busiest bee, his Chief of Staff, Commander David McFey. His CoS's job was to assign tasks to everyone, make sure they got done, then compile the information into a sensible set of facts for the ambassador to read as he traveled to his destination. David had one day. Spock's office staff was competent, they would get the job finished as long as the ambassador stayed out of their hair. It had been a long standing 'tradition' between he and David from the very first time when, years ago, David had growled at him to stop hovering and go away so he could work.

Spock liked McFey. He had taken on the young and enthusiastic lieutenant right from the graduating class of the diplomatic corps. Over time, David had cultivated sources that Spock knew were most likely just this side of shady, but were reliable and probably more up to date than many official sources. Spock was therefore, willing to tolerate them. The red headed human was affable and pleasant, totally serious about his job, completely loyal to the Vulcan and not above pulling his leg on occasion to keep the ambassador's feet firmly planted.

David had become the friend that he had left behind after the crew of the Enterprise had finally gone their own ways. One by one, as they died from old age or duty mishaps, Spock had felt more and more alone. He actually missed the companionship of the humans. But then David had entered his life and he discovered a personality much like McCoy and Kirk rolled into one - serious mostly, sure of himself always, abrasive at times and forever readily available when needed.

Spock's Chief of Staff had also brought his family into their relationship. Carolyn McFey was as dark as her husband was red, her Italian background a complement to his Irish. She was a gregarious woman who hadn't been quite sure of her husband's relationship with the reticent Vulcan, jealous of the amount of time required for the two of them to spend together, especially in the beginning. The first meeting between the fiery, petite Italian and cool, tall Vulcan had not gone very well. David had taken his wife home, shown her completely and irrevocably just where she stood in his heart and had been late to work the next day.

David was deliriously in love - his words - with his wife and had been from the day he'd first brazenly waltzed into the tasting room of the Sepherilli family's vineyard and laid eyes on the beautiful, dark haired woman. But the young cadet had plans to follow and goals to meet before he could consider taking on a wife. So he made a lasting impression before departing and then returned just often enough to remind her that he was going to be a part of her future and to not make other plans.

Once he'd entered the diplomatic corps, he'd made himself more of a pest until she'd finally agreed to go out with him, just to get rid of him. Two years later, immediately after taking the post with the ambassador, he'd married the girl.

They now had two children. Joshua was their oldest, at twelve. He was a quick, bright boy, if not a little lazy on occasion, as all teenagers were at these times. He hoped to enter Starfleet Academy someday to travel the stars.

Amanda, his daughter, was seven, and in love with the ambassador. So infatuated was she that not six months ago she had announced to him, at a party, at just the time when there was a lull in the noise, that she planned on marrying the Vulcan when she grew up. Stunned silence followed the announcement. David had moved to take the girl away, but Spock had forestalled him. Going to her level, he'd expressed great honor at her decision, but perhaps they should wait for another time to discuss the matter.

Amanda, or Mandy as Spock called her, was a special child to him. On the day she'd been born, Spock had been with McFey, who'd dumped the newborn into his arms without so much as a wherewithal. Spock had found himself captivated by the baby, why he did not know. That McFey had given the child his mother's name had been the first explanation to cross the ambassador's mind, but he later found out that McFey had not been aware of the fact. But as a newborn, then an infant, and now as a young girl, Mandy had always seem to have a world of trust for the Vulcan. He could do no wrong in her eyes. So they were close, as close as an uncle to a beloved niece. Once she'd accepted that standing after her announcement, and a good cry, they'd settled into a comfortable relationship.

McFey included Spock in their many family gatherings, special and not so special. He gave the ambassador something he had not had for many years - a connection to people he cared about and missed after his time on the Enterprise had ended. To go to McFey's for dinner kept him from going alone to an empty apartment.

There was a lot about the Vulcan to which McFey was privy. As part of his job, he was responsible for making sure Spock had everything he needed to conduct negotiations. He kept his files up to date, his clothes cleaned and pressed and food on his table while on a mission when the other forgot or became too busy to eat. David was an astute judge of body language so he could read the rare times when Spock was tired or even ill. He was capable of presenting plausible excuses for the Vulcan to delay meetings without exposing the truth. He knew when talks degenerated into arguments which made the ambassador frustrated or angry and knew how to defuse the situation.

Second only to David was St'van, a Vulcan of middle years, come to Earth for a position in the Vulcan embassy. St'van was not bonded as well as unattached and remained so at this date. Spockhad hired him based solely on his resume. As his personal secretary, St'van gave Spock that connection to Vulcan that he kept at bay since he had his offices on Earth and dealt daily with Terrans. Spock was an ambassador for the Federation, not, as his father, an ambassador for Vulcan.

Spock did not live permanently on his home planet though he did go home often enough to remind his clan that he was the heir and the family holdings were his by birthright. His experience as an officer in Starfleet gave him a better firsthand knowledge of extraterrestrial peoples. When the position of ambassador had been offered, he felt ready to handle it with all of the dignity and aplomb the position required.

But Spock also wanted that daily link to his home world without the repercussions of his mixed heritage, someone who understood from personal experience what it meant to be Vulcan and could speak the language as only a native. He found it in St'van. The younger Vulcan was eager to learn and just as eager to travel, to experience what the ambassador had experienced as much as possible. Like McFey, he, too, was intensely loyal to the older man and dedicated to his job. St'van kept the ambassador on schedule, his office in order, and acted as a shield to intrusive people and information.

Together, David and St'van were a formidable force in protecting the ambassador from intrusion and scrutiny, neither of which he sought nor tolerated. All Spock wanted was to do his job, and he did it well despite any roadblocks the still vocal xenophobes tried to throw in his way. Not to mention the newsvids and occasional females who still dropped themselves at his feet.

David had recently hired a lieutenant from Starfleet as his secretary. Susan Atkins brought lightness to the otherwise stoic, sometime Victorian atmosphere in the office. She was the office mother, keeping track of important dates and making sure those dates were celebrated as appropriately as the ambassador would permit.

From there, various people filled in the rest of the staff, most of them interested in furthering their career with the Corps. Their time as part of his staff was an intense learning experience. Spock had to admit to a certain amount of pleasure in the fact that no one from his office had ever received a poor review after leaving his staff.

Today though, none of that mattered. He had been assigned a job and he would do it, as always, to the best of his ability. That he had been assigned the job personally by the President spoke of A Halil's great respect for the Ambassador.

Spock had wasted no time upon his return from Romulus to pay a visit to the President to explain himself. They spent the better part of a day locked in the office with _absolutely_ no interruptions permitted until they had hashed everything out. A Halil forgave his wayward ambassador, reinstated him with full privileges and sent him immediately to work. Spock reopened his office, surprised to find David waiting on that day, no questions asked and no answers needed. In David's eyes, Spock had done what he thought was necessary, as he had always done, and he had no right to question or condemn his actions.

The sun was warm this day, shining brightly after the rain of yesterday. A chill brought by the rain the day before still lingered. Puddles were scattered here and there along the pavement that made up the Old Market, making the roadway slippery in places. The crowds were slightly larger than normal - having lost their chance to shop yesterday they came out in force today.

So late this morning, before David had had a chance to toss him out, he'd left and now wandered the Market, engrossed in sorting and organizing through what he briefly knew about the situation, though an occasional activity or remarkable item would catch his eye. He was not a collector, he had neither the room for or interest in the clutter. An unusually created piece could garner his attention, if for no other reason than to admire its craftsmanship. Normally, he ignored the hawking of the merchants as they tried to entice customers to their wares, but today there was a beautiful decanter that caught his eye.

A single spot of sunlight fell on the decanter, making it glow as if surrounded by smoke in colors of red, blue, brown and purple. It had an elegant line hinting at the graceful neck of a swan. The whole piece reminded him of a bird poised to take flight but without the wings. The artist had captured the fantastical bird's movement without a single thing to point to it. He had infused color that seemed to drift and flow as the piece turned.

"Ah, good sir," the merchant appealed upon seeing Spock's interest in the piece. His hands surrounded the decanter lovingly. "A most glorious piece now, wouldn't you agree? Comes from the other side of the wormhole just beyond Space Station Nine." He lifted the piece and placed it in Spock's hands.

The ambassador was somewhat skeptical of the merchant's claims. Very little of any import came through that wormhole, but the piece was intriguing. Spock removed the stopper and sniffed. The smell was acrid. Wherever it had come from, it was not an unused decanter and would need a good cleaning, should he make the purchase.

With strong recollections of Harcourt Mudd crossbred with the space merchant Cyrano Jones that set off the tingle that went up his spine from the memory of tribbles and illegal beauty enhancement drugs, Spock raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "At what price?" he asked.

"Ah, good sir, what price can one put on such a delicate piece of artwork? How can one man set a value…"

"What price?" Spock asked again.

The merchant laid his stubby fingers against his protruding stomach, giving Spock a once over. There was nothing particularly rich looking about the Vulcan, he was covered from near head to toe in a woolen cloak, so the merchant had no idea on the cost of the cloth that made his clothing and therefore the size of his 'purse.' He drummed his fingers a moment, deciding. "Three hundred credits," he announced. Spock started to replace the decanter on its stand.

"Too much," he replied. The Old Market's motto was 'Let's Deal.' Spock could deal with the best of them. He was truly intrigued by the decanter.

The merchant pushed the decanter back into Spock's grip. "Look at it again, kind sir," he started. "Imagine the sunlight delicately glimmering off of it, and how it might…"

The merchant's continued entreaties faded somewhat as other noises began to intrude. From the left of where he stood, Spock heard several voices that were raised in an argument. Two men, squabbling over the results of a sporting event, he discerned, heading in his direction. Under the sound of the raised male voices he heard the softer tones of two women, one encouraging the other to hurry, that they were going to be late. That voice was accented with a British lilt, not heavy, but distinct.

"George, you're an idiot!" one man said vehemently.

"I am not!" the other replied just as loudly.

"You are!"

"Alyssa, we're going to be late."

"Take it back, Fred!"

"Make me!"

"I'm coming. Stop rushing."

And from there, things went from bad to worse. Fred took exception to George's continued declarations concerning his reduced intellect and chose to emphasize it by drawing his hand back in order to land a punch. He connected roundly, sending George reeling into the two women between themselves and the Vulcan.

George merely brushed the arm of one of the women, spinning her around. But he fell full into the other one, knocking her off of her feet.

And right into the Vulcan. He had been about to set the decanter back on the counter when he saw from his peripheral vision that there was a woman falling in his direction. Ever the gentleman, inherently a protector, he found he had to chose between the woman or the decanter. The woman won. The birdlike decanter took literal flight.

He twisted to prevent her fall, but the force of it and his twisting on the wet ground caused him to lose his own footing and they tumbled to the ground, she on top of him. The decanter arced through the air.

Time stopped. He had, in an instant, estimated her height at five foot eight, perhaps nine inches. For someone so tall, she was pleasantly light in body, a feather weight. Every part of her fit into every part of him as nature had intended. Her buttocks settled firmly into his groin. The back of her head lay on his shoulder. A fall of hair caressed his cheek, neck and draped to the ground beneath, as rich in scent as it was in its ripened golden wheat color. He could detect patchouli and sandalwood, a not unpleasant mixture. The hair was soft and silky where it touched his skin and he saw it shimmer as the sun and wind played on it.

There was a crashing noise somewhere in the background.

"My decanter," the merchant moaned.

"Janeen, are you hurt?" the other woman asked.

"Someone call…"

"Come on George," Fred encouraged, shoving forward the hand that a moment ago had swung in ire.

"…Security."

"Let's get the hell outta here."

The woman took a deep breath, bringing Spock back into his surroundings. He raised his hands to lift her, instantly catching his own breath. His right hand had found the curve of her right breast by mistake. Through her bra, shirt, and light coat, it was soft, pliant, and full, and he was embarrassed by how good it felt under his fingers as he pressed prior to lifting her. He swallowed deeply.

Spock quickly repositioned his right hand and pushed as she rolled to the side. She raised herself to her elbows to look at him.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice trailing off as she stared, dumbstruck.

He found he returned her stare, unsure exactly why, but knowing that he had no choice. Her eyes were the bluest he'd ever seen, and they were quickly turning violet at some emotion. They danced at him in delight, then softened in recognition and gently shuttered closed for a heartbeat with long, blonde lashes. Her breath exhaled in a soft sigh.

He sat up to the sound of retreating feet. Looking beyond her, he saw two cadets hightailing it out of the area, no doubt leery of being placed on report for the incident. A hand came between him and the woman, who lay, still on the ground.

"Janeen, now we will be late," her friend Alyssa Garnham wailed softly, offering aid.

The woman shook herself. "My papers!" she cried watching the items in question dance down the street. She righted herself and rose, grabbing at whatever lay within reach. Alyssa went after the ones taking flight.

She suddenly remembered the Vulcan still sitting on the ground. A pair of Starfleet officers was running in their direction. Janeen offered her hand to him. "Are you all right?" she repeated.

He waved her hand off, spun around and rose, swiping at his cloak. It was wet and stained. "I am fine."

Her free hand rose to her mouth in distress. "Your coat," she said. "I'm so sorry."

"It will clean," he promised. "Do not distress yourself."

The security men stopped next to the two of them. "Ambassador, are you all right?" one asked, a lieutenant. Both men had had their phasers ready, but belted them once they realized there was no need for them.

The woman's eyebrow cocked at the title.

"I am unharmed, Lieutenant."

"Who's gonna pay for my decanter?" the merchant demanded.

"What happened?" The lieutenant took a handheld padd from his pocket.

"A disagreement between two cadets knocked this woman off of her feet," Spock explained tilting his head in her direction.

"Ma'am?" the lieutenant inquired in confirmation.

"Simmons, Janeen Simmons," she introduced. "And this is Alyssa Garnham," she continued as Alyssa joined her, her arms full of scrambled papers. "We teach at the Pax, we were on our way back," she finished as she took the papers. They were wet and stained.

"We'll need a report," the lieutenant said.

Janeen's look of disappointment at the condition of the papers changed to dismay. "Can I do that later? I really have to get back to school."

"The Pax, you say?" he asked. She nodded. "I guess one of us can stop by and take a statement. Ambassador Spock?"

Janeen's eyes narrowed in speculation. So this was the famed Ambassador Spock everyone was always talking about. He was taller than she'd thought and exuded authority even after taking a spill. The security officers' body language showed that they deferred to him without him having to request it - it came instinctively.

"I have time now, Lieutenant," Spock indicated. He was studying the woman. She taught at the Pax Academy. The school was one of the most prestigious educational institutions on Earth. Its pupils were the children of high ranking officials and officers and who showed they had the high intelligence required to be admitted. If she was a teacher there, it spoke well of her in her profession.

And she intrigued him. What was it he had felt when looking for the first time into her eyes? A jolt had hit him deep within, as if the entire universe had been tilted on its axis and then righted by her. The feeling had gone straight to his soul.

She finished righting her papers and gave the lieutenant a questioning look. "May we leave?"

"Yes, Ma'am, we'll contact you at the Pax."

She spared a glance to Spock, catching him studying her and her head angled slightly as if daring him to comment. He was momentarily taken aback when her eyebrows arched in an expression he remembered well from childhood. When he didn't respond, at the urging of her friend, she turned, reluctantly he thought, and accompanied the other.

The merchant was whining to his side, but Spock continued to follow the retreating women with his eyes. The third time the security officer called to him, he finally dragged his gaze away to settle with the merchant and the security guards.

He had not been able to get her out of his mind. For the rest of the day, her scent had clung to him, the remembrance of her body on his disturbing enough to interrupt his concentration. When he'd donned his cloak at the end of the work day, her scent had wafted up around him. He carried it home with him then stored it in his closet, the cloak unnecessary for the trip.


	4. Chapter 4

The negotiations had gone well. Spock had headed home five days after arriving, getting back to Earth after a nine day trip. With time and distance, the memory of the girl had given way enough for him to concentrate on duty.

But when he opened his closet to store his garments and travel valise, her scent had sprung out at him full force, his entire closet permeated by it from the cloak. The memories had come rushing back at warp speed - the weight of her body on his, the feel of her breast in his hand, the sound of her voice. And her eyes, seeing all but revealing little in the few minutes she had stared at him. He had felt not illogical, but ridiculous that he was holding onto his cloak as if it were a lifeline. She was most likely married, or at the least, engaged. McCoy would have needled him endlessly if he could have seen Spock standing, half in half out of his closet.

Going into the office the next day, he'd spent time checking into her, searching whatever public records and some not so public, he could find. He had rarely been so intrigued by someone before and something was making it impossible for him to do anything else until he satisfied his curiosity.

Spock should not have been surprised at himself when a day later he found himself standing near the foot of a flight of stairs that led to the interior of the school. The day was over, the children had been dismissed and were streaming from the school, some of them to be picked up by landcar, some to walk home. At the top of the stairs she stood amidst a cluster of teachers that had gathered to keep an eye on the students, chatting with several students who stopped in their rush to leave to exchange a word with one of their instructors.

She wore her hair down as she had that morning. With the breeze it danced around her shoulders and face as if it had a mind of its own. She had donned some sort of frothy trousers and shirt outfit in a sky blue color that billowed around her body.

Many of the students passed Spock with a critical eye, as well as disdainful one, for no Vulcans attended the Pax. Its program, while excellent, could not surpass the education a Vulcan child could receive on his home world. Some of the students felt the school slighted by this. To see one, in the courtyard of a gated, guarded school, was not a common sight.

He had to satisfy his interests about her. What was it that had stopped the galaxy from spinning when their eyes met? After all of the women he had known, and the few with whom he had had a relationship, none of them had ever come as close to taking over his soul as she. He could not, would not, let it rest until he found its source and reason.

So he waited for the grounds to clear, easily visible, but not intruding. She appeared well liked, students crowding around her like flies to honey, and she was enthusiastically responding to them. One of them said something that made her laugh. The sound rolled from her, dancing over the students and down the steps until it touched him and settled somewhere in the area around his stomach. She glanced up and saw him watching.

Instantly, she sobered. Just long enough for those around her to notice and turn to see what had caught her eye, what had changed. Several sets of eyebrows rose at the sight of a Vulcan watching, appearing to have an interest in Janeen. One teacher leaned closer to another to whisper in the other's ear, none too softly, "That's Ambassador Spock."

Janeen smiled at him - for him? Spock bowed his head in acknowledgement and she gave her attention back to her students, hurrying them along.

She got to the bottom of the stairs as he met her there. The sobering expression she had first shown became one of congenial recognition. "Ambassador."

"Ms. Simmons."

"I hope you haven't suffered any ill effects from our little…tumble."

He shook his head. "No. You?"

She laughed lightly. "I didn't. My students, however, would disagree with me."

"Indeed? How so?"

"I made them do those papers over again. They were not pleased." Her laugh was a tickle along his nervous system. "Some of them actually improved their grade."

"Then I would say our 'tumble' was a good thing."

"For those students, yes." She ran her hand along the railing of the steps. "Can I do something for you?"

He stepped onto the bottom step. "Yes. I wish to speak with you. Are you through for the day?"

"I have to put away some things in my room. Would you like to come in?"

"I would like to see your classroom, yes."

He followed her through the halls and up a flight of steps to the door then through into her class. From the wall hangings and pictures, she obviously taught English. On the back wall, rows of shelves held books from many different planets. She invited him to peruse the titles as she collected articles from her desk, folding them into a valise before storing it in a cabinet.

He wandered beyond the book shelves. She also had a great deal of music sheets. She had a heavy interest in music. He wondered what instrument or instruments she played.

"Piano mostly," she answered as if he'd actually asked, "but guitar, several flutes, Varykian violins, and the Ionian harpsichord."

"Indeed?" he asked, surprised. The harpsichord was difficult to master, with three keyboards and seven harmonic levels.

"Do you play an instrument?"

"I am familiar with the piano, but my instrument of choice is the Vulcan lyre."

"I've not had a chance to hear everything a lyre can do, though what I've heard is beautiful."

"I was once told by a friend that the sound of the lyre reminded him of a room full of yowling cats." She was sure she saw a twinkle in his eye. "Of course, I have never been in a room full of yowling cats so I am not familiar with the sound. And I have always believed Dr. McCoy had what you refer to as a 'tin ear.'"

Janeen chuckled softly. "I've been told I have a _very_ _discerning_ ear. That may be right. I can pick a mistuned instrument out of a full orchestra _while_ they're all playing."

"Indeed?" he asked again with more surprise. He gazed back at the sheet music again. All of them were in handwriting, in ink. "These are all original works?"

"Most of them. Sometimes things get so crazy that the only way I have to ease the tension is to compose." She idly flipped through a stack. "Some of it is good, some of it is just notes written on lines." She put the pages back on the shelf with a slapping sound.

"You are quite…tense," he observed, noting the scores of sheets laying on the shelf.

She laughed out loud. "It's a hectic job, Ambassador. It's not only the students, but their parents with whom I have to contend, and they are a contentious lot."

"Do you not enjoy your work, Miss Simmons?"

"I love the students and the teaching. I'm not that thrilled about the rest of it."

"And that would be?"

"There is a lot of bookkeeping involved in teaching, Ambassador. But you should know that, you were a teacher at Starfleet Academy."

He didn't bother to hide his mild surprise. "You know my history?"

"A lot of it is a matter of public record."

"And that which is not?"

"I teach at the Pax, Ambassador. What do you think?"

He turned away from her to walk along another wall, studying the educational materials. So, she had connections as well. Not hard to imagine, with the kind of children she encountered every day. He wondered just how deeply she had pursued his biography.

"You said you wanted to talk?" she hinted.

"Would you be available to join me for dinner?"

She sat on one of the near desks, confusion clearly on her face. She did not expect this. His appearing at the Academy was enough of a surprise. Asking her to dinner was a shock.

If she were true to herself, she had felt an instant connection to him that day. It had been as though her soul had reached out and touched his and they had melded into one. The feeling had made her…complete. He was the other half of her that she had been searching for and hadn't known was missing. There was no other way to look at it.

But he was not only an ambassador of extremely high regard, he was also a Vulcan. In her research about him, she had requested information on Vulcans in general, and the reports had not been encouraging. When she had heard he had gone off planet, she chalked it up to one more experience to file away and forget…eventually.

She was, after all, already near thirty, unmarried and still a virgin. Not great odds in her favor, she'd decided. No one had ever measured up to her intellect, interests and general standards. She'd date, for two or three dates, then move on when the man in question expected more than she was ready to give. Tossing herself into her work had brought satisfaction, but not contentment. She thought she had finally convinced herself it was enough.

Until _he_ had come along. Hope had flared, briefly. But armed with the information she had gathered and his leaving Earth, she had given any hope an extremely slim chance.

He mistook her silence. "Forgive me. I am aware that you are not married, but is there someone with whom you are involved?"

She laughed again in irony. "No, there's no one," she answered. "But I'm afraid that I already have plans for this evening."

He nodded, moving away slightly, thinking. Did he want to pursue this further? Should he?

She saw the quick flash, only a heartbeat in time's worth, of disappointment cross his face. "However, there's room for one more in my plans, if you're free?"

"About what are your plans?"

"I have a concert tonight, the first of the year, here. You're welcomed to come."

"You are playing?"

She shook her head. "Conducting. My senior students. They've been working on this since last year." She tossed back the hair that had slid over her shoulder. "They're really quite good, if I do say so myself." She hopped off of the desk, her glance checking the chronometer. "If you can't come, we can talk if you're willing to walk with me. I only enough have time to go home, change and grab a quick bite before I have to come back." She hoped he would come, but carefully controlled her expression in case he declined.

He did. "That would be acceptable," he agreed. It was not that he wasn't interested in hearing the concert, he most definitely was. But he had meetings tomorrow and notes to read over tonight. Dinner would have taken enough of his time by itself.

She smiled at him. It was delightful to him. "Great then." She held her hand out in invitation to precede her through the door which she locked.

"Was your mission successful?" she asked after they'd walked for several minutes and neither had said a word. She wasn't sure why he had come to the school to see her. She toyed with a blue gem on the end of a silver chain that dangled from around her neck. He hadn't seen the jewel earlier, it must have been laying in her cleavage.

"I accomplished the Federation's goals, yes."

"That's good then I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, I imagine that what the Federation wants isn't always in the best interests of the parties involved."

"That has not been my experience as an ambassador. I have, in fact, on occasion, opposed the Federation in negotiations."

"And can you make it stick?" She dropped the jewel and it disappeared back between her breasts.

"Make what 'stick?'" he asked, momentarily distracted.

"When you oppose the Federation's goals, can you come back to the Council and make your reasons stick?"

"I would not stand before the Council unless I was sure of my ability to make it 'stick.'"

His answer must have pleased her, for she nodded once with a satisfied smile.

"Ms. Simmons, the other day, when we met," he started.

"I remember," she replied, somewhat fondly if he read her voice right.

"Am I correct to assume that by your voice, you…experienced… something that day?"

"Is that what happened, Ambassador?" she turned back on him.

"Explain," he demanded, stopping.

She faced him. "No, you explain, since you wanted this conversation." He stared 'through' her for a second then started to walk again. She followed after he'd gone several steps.

He strolled, silent, pondering. They passed a garden of freshly blooming flowers, he didn't notice them. A shop vendor nearly collided with them as he set out tables for the dinner crowd, Spock did not see him. She nearly had to grab him to prevent him being run down by a landcar as he crossed a narrow side street, but he saw just it in time.

He didn't notice her stop until he had gone several steps beyond the doorway where she waited expectantly. He looked back as if to ask why she had stopped. She gave him her best teacher's 'well?' look. He could almost hear her foot tapping in impatience.

He glanced up at the building. It was an older building in a district that had been renovated about seventy-five years ago. Though in keeping with the historic theme, the interior of many buildings had been gutted and modernized for the times. He'd been near the end of his starship voyages when this building was being remodeled.

An eyebrow lifted. The differences in their age had never occurred to him in the last ten solar days. Spock appraised her deeply. He had to have at least a hundred years on her, though because of his Vulcan heritage, he was on the younger side of middle-aged. If he were truthful with her, and she agreeable, they could share a successful and long lasting relationship. He had to trust that despite their differences, time would be generous. He took a deep, fortifying breath.

"Ms. Simmons, the day we met, I had an impression that we may come to mean more to each other than simply acquaintances. Was I alone in that impression?"

"Did you feel as though time stopped, even for a heartbeat?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation.

"Then you weren't alone."

He nodded. "I would like to spend time with you, to explore that, if I may?"

She laughed again in delight. "I don't think we have much choice, now do we, Mr. Ambassador?"

He was sober, his answer unhesitant. "No, we do not."

Her smile faded. "Well, this is my building. Are you sure you can't attend this evening?"

"I have several meetings tomorrow and must go over reports tonight. I thank you for your invitation however. Perhaps another concert?" She started to move towards the entrance. "How may I contact you?" One foot was on the stoop.

"You can leave a message at the school."

He seemed to be nodding a lot around her. "Very well. I would like to have dinner with you soon."

She gave him the same perusal he had given her. "I'll check my schedule after you call to give me some dates."

He bowed slightly. "I hope you have a successful presentation tonight. Good evening, Ms. Simmons."

Her hand reached behind her for the door handle. "Good night, Ambassador." She watched as he moved down the sidewalk the way that they had come until the clock in her head clanged to remind her that her time was running out.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry, that's what happens when you're transferring these things from paper to computer. It's corrected now. Enjoy!

Lt. Kyle swung around from his navigation post to face Capt. Tremaine. "Captain, we're entering Vulcan air space."

"Take us out of warp, helm, slow to sub light. Lt. Joany, hailing frequencies, please."

The comm officer toggled a few keys. "Hailing frequencies open, sir."

Capt. Tremaine faced the forward view screen. "Vulcan Space Central, this is the USS Arkansas, requesting permission to enter orbit. We have a medical emergency." He waited ten seconds, then ten more. "Vulcan Space Central, please respond. I repeat, we have a medical emergency."

To the right of Tremaine's chair, Science Officer Rafe Starrett suddenly rose, bending over his scanners. He flipped a switch or two, his face hovering close to his instruments. "Captain," he reported, his voice excited, "I'm reading three ships approaching from the planet, fast and hot."

Gerard Tremaine's face showed disbelief, then worry as he swung around to look at Starrett. "Identify!"

Starrett straightened before sitting in his chair. With his eyes glued to his panels he checked, then double checked his information. "The basic design appears Vulcan, but we have no specifics in our data banks on these ships," he reported.

"Shields!" Tremaine ordered, facing forward again. "Red alert!"

"Shields up," security reported, a siren beginning to wail.

"Red alert!" Lt Joany announced shipwide. "All hands go to red alert!"

"Viewscreen, " Tremaine ordered, "I want to see those ships."

Kyle punched at a few spots on his panel. "Screen on, sir."

Tremaine watched intently as the three ships came closer, their design and insignia familiar, yet not. "What the hell…" he muttered to himself.

"Vulcan ships taking position around us, sir," Kyle reported.

"Tactical," Tremaine ordered. Before them, the screen switched to a graphic. In the center, a green blip indicated the Arkansas. Three red blips, the Vulcan ships were taking an equidistant position around the Federation vessel.

Behind him, Joany spoke. "Sir, I'm receiving a transmission from the starboard ship."

"On speakers." The Bridge crew listened to the Vulcanian words. No one on the Bridge spoke the language, but the tone was firm and impeachable. "Translating," Joany said as he pushed a switch.

The words were shocking. "Alien vessel, maintain your position, disengage your weapons. Do not further approach the planet nor attempt to leave. Non-compliance will result in your immediate destruction."

"'Alien vessel?'" Tremaine repeated, incredulous. "Joany, open a channel."

"Channel open, sir."

"This is Capt. Gerard Tremaine of the United Federation of Planets' starship Arkansas. We have ambassador Spock on board in dire need of medical attention. We must be allowed to beam down to the planet."

The chronometer ticked off a full minute of silence. "Repeat my message," Tremaine ordered. The crew listened once more. Another full minute ticked by.

The reply came as a second shock. "Permission denied. Prepare to be boarded. Lower your shields. Any sign of hostility will be met with reprisal."

Tremaine sat back in his chair to give the order a full thirty seconds of thought. The decision wasn't easy, but necessary. The lives of his crew versus the lives of the three men in his Sick-Bay. "Lower shields," he decided, "but stay alert."

"Shields lowered."

Within seconds, four figures appeared between the Captain's chair and the operations console. Vulcan males in the prime of life, strong and resolute, unbeatable if the crew decided to entertain any thoughts as to overpowering them. Each wore a uniform, only one appeared more opulent than the others. The three surrounding the one carried weapons, vicious looking, drawn and ready.

Tremaine rose from his chair. He didn't want any actions to be taken as a threat. His right rose in the Vulcan salute, the _ta'al_, his fingers paired. "I am Capt. Tremaine. We come in peace and desperate need of your help."

The unarmed Vulcan could not disguise the surprise that crossed his features at Tremaine's gesture. "_Komihn_," he murmured to his companions. He carried in his left hand a small black rectangular box, his index finger rubbing the side of it gently. With a slight twist, he touched a spot on the face of the box. "I am St'el. Who is this Spock?"

The translator he held conveyed a voice that was deep and moderately accented, but authoritative and - curious. His eyes danced around the Bridge, taking it all in as he took a deep breath before fixing a piercing gaze on Tremaine.

Tremaine's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, who is Spock? He's one of your planet's most well-known and respected citizens.."

"We know of no Spock. What is his lineage? How is it he came to be with humans?"

Without taking his eyes off of the Vulcans, Tremaine called on his science officer. "Starrett, pull up Spock's bio, please."

"Yes, sir."

Tremaine didn't need to watch as Spock's image came up on the view screen above the officer and the computer began to spit out the information in a mechanical voice. Instead, he watched the four Vulcans.

"Spock, Ambassador, born standard date, 2230, planet Vulcan. Father, Sarek; mother, Amanda Grayson of Earth. Entered Starfleet Academy…."

"Stop!" St'el commanded. "I know of Sarek. He has but one son, Sybok. There is no son Spock." He dared Tremaine to refute him.

Tremaine took up the challenge. "There is, and he's in my Sick-Bay, dying if you won't help."

The Vulcan's head tilted slightly as he regarded Tremaine. He glanced back to the view screen, lingering a moment at the picture, his brow knitting deeply. "Take me to this Spock," he demanded.

Tremaine's head jerked slightly to the left and back, towards the turbo lift door. "This way."

St'el murmured to his companions in Vulcan. The one to his left stepped away to accompany his commander as the other two separated slightly to reposition themselves in order to keep better watch over the Bridge.

The Captain followed the two Vulcans, stopping long enough to place a hand on Starrett's shoulder, leaning closer. "You have the con, Rafe. Don't do anything to provoke them."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Together, the three entered the lift, the Vulcans' surprise at the device undisguised. "Deck ten," Tremaine requested.

St'el quickly recovered his composure. "What is wrong with this Spock?"

"His wife has died. His marriage bond is broken."

"When did this happen?"

"About eight hours ago. We had just achieved orbit around Thesius Six when the emergency call came through."

"The breaking of a marriage bond is most serious."

The lift slowed to a stop, the doors hissed open. "So I've been told. This way."

In sick-Bay, Dr. Micheal Trice, ship's chief medical officer and surgeon, greeted the group as they entered. "This is Dr. Trice," the Captain introduced. "Doc, this is St'el. Any change?"

The doctor greeted the Vulcans with a curt nod. He didn't want to waste the time on formalities. "Yes," he answered as he lead them through the facility. "Cmdr. Mcfey is tiring rapidly. He will not hold out much longer."

The sight that greeted them was stunning to the Vulcans. Before them, stretched out on a bio bed, lay Spock. His eyes were closed, his breathing, though shallow, was even. Tear tracks went from his eyes to his temples, then through his hair to form a small puddle on the bed to either side of his head.

Standing on his left side, his hands on Spock's face in a mind meld, was David McFey. Best friend, co-worker, chief of staff and quite possibly, savior. But he was showing visible signs of strain. His breathing was harsh and rapid, his skin pallid. He winced in pain. His hair was soaked with the sweat of effort as his hands shook violently. The shirt he had thrown on so carelessly was wrinkled and sweat coated. His cheeks were tear stained.

On the opposite side of the bed stood St'van, his head bowed until the others arrived to interrupt his concentration. His face also visible signs of stress, though no where near as badly as on McFey.

The Captain's hand rose to indicate the prone Vulcan. "This is Ambassador Spock. With him is his Chief of Staff, Cmdr. David McFey."

"They are mind-melded?"

"He is saving Lord Spock's life," St'van answered, "but he is tiring. Should he cease now, to save his own life, Spock will die. They may both die should he continue." St'van bowed slightly, his hand in _ta'al_. "I am St'van, of the house of Me-ad-al-ken."

"A minor house," St'el noted, "but of upstanding reputation."

"Will you help him?" Trice asked, interrupting. His anxiety was palpable.

"It is not a decision I may make on my own. I must consult with the High Council."

"There is a communications unit in my office," Trice offered. He showed St'el the way. The other Vulcan remained by the doorway.

When Trice returned he found his captain, arms crossed against his chest, a look of annoyed patience on his face. Trice shook his head. "McFey's all but done in. I dare not give him any more stimulants and he doesn't need anymore supplements. He needs rest." He leaned closer to his superior, lowering his voice. "What the hell is going on?" he asked. "Why the hesitation?"

Tremiane had crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze rooted on the scene before him. Just over eight hours ago, as the Arkansas had put into orbit, a distress call had come in from the ambassador's secretary to beam them up - fast. As soon as they had materialized in the transporter room, St'van had demanded that they head to Vulcan at highest warp. The ambassador's wife had died and he was catatonic over it, feeling her loss through the marriage bond that all Vulcans shared with their spouses. Then he had directed the medical staff as they transferred both the Vulcan and human to Sick-Bay, careful to maintain the mind meld that was keeping the ambassador alive until they could get home.

Once St'van had been sure that there was no more anyone could do until Vulcan, he'd explained in more detail the mysteries of Vulcan bonding. Tremaine, annoyed up to that point at being ordered about on his own ship, conceded that the secretary had done the right thing. The Arkansas was the ship used most often by the ambassador for his missions ad they liked and respected the Vulcan.

He took a deep breath to control his emotions, running rampant from stress. "They claim they've never heard of Spock, he's not a son of Sarek." He shook his head once. "They seemed - surprised - by us."

"How so?"

"Like they've never dealt with humans before. They've got my ship blockaded and are ready to shoot if we so much as blink."

Behind him, the wall intercom hailed. "Captain?"

The officer went to it. "Tremaine here."

Joany's voice was puzzled. "Sir, I've been monitoring Starfleet channels since we came out of warp and there's nothing there."

""Explain, Lieutenant."

"I can't, sir. Normally there should be all kinds of subspace chatter, messages going back and forth. Now there's nothing. All I can detect are planetside transmissions and the messages going from us to the surface. Beyond Vulcan, space is empty."

"Did you try to contact Starfleet?"

"Yes, sir. The Vulcans are blocking me."

Tremaine took a deep breath and sighed. What the hell was happening? First Vulcan, now Starfleet. Had the entire universe gone crazy?

"All right, Joany, keep monitoring. Run a diagnostic on the systems and let me know when you have the results. Tremaine out."

"Damned strange," Trice muttered as Tremaine rejoined him.

"There's more going on here than we can see right now, and I'm sure it all revolves around that man." He pointed at Spock. "I don't know, Doc…"

"Captain," St'el interrupted as he returned to the room, "the High Council has given permission for Spock, St'van and the human Mcfey to transport to the Vulcan Science Center. Only those three."

"Fine," Tremaine agreed. "If you'll stay, I have about a million questions for you."

St'el inclined his head, never taking his eyes off of the human. "As I have for you."

On Vulcan's surface, in the capitol city of Shi-Kahr, a wing of the Science Center had been cordoned off. Offices and scientists had been evacuated, no questions answered.

Through a transparent window, the High Council, a group of twelve, watched, intent and curious. News of the human starship and unknown Vulcan male who claimed relationship to Sarek had rippled through their chamber like a tidal wave. Confirmation by St'el had stunned them speechless. Seeing him in the flesh was worrying.

A physician stood nearby as two high priests, highly trained in mental abilities, broke the mindmeld, taking over to complete Mcfey's task. The human fainted dead away, caught by the physician before he could hit the floor.

Two orderlies came to gather the unconscious man between them and carried him out. Several Council members nodded in approval. The human had undergone a difficult task, one that not many of them would have willingly taken. To have survived it showed great strength and resolve.

He was taken to the room in which St'van had been locked, the secretary rising from a chair in concern at the unconscious man. The orderlies said not a word to the other as Mcfey was laid on a bed. They remained silent as they left, the door locked behind them.

St'van perched on the side of the bed, a hand gently laying on Mcfey's face. Concentrating, he read the other briefly, lightly. The commander was exhausted, he would need rest and food, but was otherwise unharmed.

"Commander," he called. "Commander."

McFey stirred, taking a gasping breath, then another. "No!" he cried out, anguish and pain in his voice. St'van grabbed him by the upper arms, holding tightly enough to cause pain. McFey needed something else to focus on, to release himself from Spock's agony.

"Commander!" he shouted. "David!"

David's breath stopped for a moment. His eyes blinked open, absolute horror in them that melted away with recognition. Sadness filled him, tears pooled, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "St'van," he acknowledged, his voice ragged. "I've never known…never thought…such pain."

"It is what drives them insane, when a mate dies."

David swiped angrily at the moisture on his face, vehement. "Not Spock."

"No, not Lord Spock," St'van agreed. "You have saved him."

"His body, yes. But not his heart. I don't think that'll ever mend." He looked around him as he struggled to rise. "We're on Vulcan?" he asked. "Where's Spock? How is he?"

St'van rose, offering his hand in aid. Grabbing it, McFey sat up, scrubbing at his face with his free hand. He hurt, physically and mentally. He wanted some food, a shower, clean clothes and hours of uninterrupted sleep, in that order - after he found out how Spock was doing.

"I assume the ambassador is being taken care of in another part of the Center. They have surely called in adepts to aid him."

"Let's go then."

St'van held him. "We can not."

"What do you mean, we can't? Why not?"

St'van released his arm. "We are locked in this room. They will not permit us to leave."

"They? Who's 'they?'"

"The High Council."

"Why would they restrict us? Are we under arrest?"

St'van became contemplative. "Tell me, Commander, would you agree that there are but a handful of people who if, do not know Lord Spock, at least know of him?"

"I would say that they've been living in a cave for the last hundred and fifty years or so. Why?'

"I would agree. Yet, these people who hold us in a locked room, claim to not know of Spock."

David gave St'van a sharp look. "Impossible."

"Permission had to be asked before we three, and only we three, were allowed to transport down. The Arkansas is blockaded and threatened with destruction. There are no communications outside of ship to planet, and in fact, Lt Joany has described space beyond Vulcan as empty." He turned away from David a moment, studying a statue on a table. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, facing the other. "I am not a scientist, Commander, but I believe that sometime between our leaving Thesius Six and arriving here, something of grave importance has occurred. We need Lord Spock."

David frowned, staring off somewhere blankly, before turning startled eyes to the secretary. The implications of his statement were incredulous. Had the Federation, Starfleet, been attacked? No, that would not explain the ignorance of these Vulcans to Spock, nor what appeared to be their open hostility. Unless, the attack, if there had been one, had come not from without the Federation, but from within.

Who would be foolish enough to attack the Federation? The Borg were biding their time outside Federation space. Could the Romulans have regrouped and tried attacking Vulcan again? His last information had not indicated that the Romulans were prepared to launch an offensive. They were still struggling among themselves for unification.

And did Janeen's death have anything to do with what was going on? How could it, unless it had been an assassination aimed at Spock, to keep him from something. Yet, that didn't explain Joany's 'empty space.'

He stood, not moving as a wave of dizziness overtook him. St'van's hand shot out to grab him and steady him. "I'm all right. Just dizzy."

"You need to rest. You were eight hours, fifteen minutes with Lord Spock. You are exhausted." He steered him to the bed. "While our situation may be dire, there is nothing we can do until Lord Spock is recovered. That will be several hours more, I am sure. Rest, Commander."

David decided to give in, though he really would have liked the shower and food, and of course, to see Spock. He wasn't a scientist either, but Spock was. Spock would know where to start, what questions to ask, how to do the research, if he could get himself passed his loss. "Can we contact the ship?"

"Not at the present time." St'van settled on the other bed, tired as well. "We must bide our time."

In another room in the Science Center, the same physician who had overseen the breaking of the meld now hovered over the supine Vulcan, in the middle of testing. He bared Spock's left arm and wiped it with an antiseptic cloth. As he tossed the cloth into a bin, in his mind he was going over the tests he'd already done, and what he had left to do. A nurse was keeping busy fetching materials as the physician needed.

This Spock was a fascinating subject. St'el had forwarded the bio on the unconscious Vulcan and he had read it with intensity. A Vulcan and a human, mating and producing a child. Incredible! This one's test results would probably change Vulcan medicine forever.

Taking a small, thin cylinder from a tricorder like device, he pressed one end against a spot in the cleaned area and twisted it back and forth.

Upon lifting the cylinder, he left an evenly round green spot on Spock's arm. The physician first replaced the cylinder and keyed his commands into the device before placing a cover over the wound. By the time he'd finished dressing the wound, the device had done its reading and provided a report.

"Interesting," he murmured, his mind racing as he read the results.

"What have you found?" the nurse asked.

"His blood type is T-negative."

"T-negative is rare."

"Perhaps his claim to Telek-sen-deen is valid." He looked back to the device. "There are non-Vulcan elements in his blood as well. His DNA is fascinating. I will be quite interested in hearing how he came to be."

"He is regaining consciousness."

The physician looked from his device to his patient. Spock's breathing was changing, efforted, as though he'd been exercising. His forehead wrinkled in a frown, confused. His lips parted slightly as he fought unseen demons.

"Janeen," he whispered desperately.

"Inform the Council," the physician ordered.

Spock continued to wrestle with his pain, tears filling his eyes. The doctor placed a hand on Spock's arm and the stricken man stilled, touched by a calming influence.

His eyes opened, he blinked several times before looking around. "I am Sonus," the doctor introduced. "You are in the Vulcan Science Center."

Spock sighed. "My wife?"

"I have been told that she is deceased."

Lifting an arm, Spock wiped his tears away. So be it, he decided, Janeen was gone, and he was alive despite his efforts to join her in whatever qualified as an afterlife. He'd been dead before, he could do it again. For what was there to live for, now that she was gone?

He was damned, for it was his destiny to live alone, time and time again. His friends always found a way to bring him back. And now it had been David's turn, David's opportunity to defy fate and circumstance.

David had pulled and prodded, scolded and loved. He'd offered his life for Spock, deeming the Vulcan more important, condemning him to a solitary existence without his wife. Perhaps now he could retake the Kohlinahr and stay with it for the rest of his life, since there was no one left to mourn, no reason to need to feel ever again.

"David," he started to ask, "Cmdr. McFey?"

"Is well and sleeping at last report. As is your St'van." Sonus put his medical device aside. "The human saved your life and sanity."

"Would that he had not," Spock murmured staring to the ceiling. It hit him again - unbearable sorrow that he had to choke back. His breath hitched. "How long has it been…" he rasped.

"Twelve hours since you were stricken."

He struggled to rise, ignoring the aches of his body, the pounding in his head. "I must contact my wife's parents, the Federation President."

"You can not," Sonus said, placing a restraining hand on Spock's shoulder. In his weakened condition, Sonus did not have to apply much force to keep Spock down.

Spock glared from that hand to the physician. "Explain," he demanded.

"I shall explain," a voice provided from the doorway. Both men turned towards that commanding utterance to find a tall, older Vulcan male, regal in dress and bearing. His expression was one of careful curiosity. This Spock was an unknown entity. The High Council was treading on cautious ground. Sonus's hand dropped and the physician bowed respectfully. Spock raised himself to a sitting position as the physician quietly retreated from the room.

"I am Solare, head of the High Council. You can not contact your president since there is no president to contact. There is no Federation as your shipmates have described, at least none that is familiar to us."

"Vulcan is one of the founding members of the United Federation of Planets."

Solare shook his head. "It does not exist. Humans have not developed the technology to venture into space. Nor has any Vulcan taken a human to wife and produced an offspring."

"My father…"

"Sarek was one of our greatest scientists."

"Was?"

"He is deceased. Three summers past."

"Of what did he die?"

"An accident, on the Forge."

"Who was his wife?"

"T'Rea is his widow."

Spock felt his head swim. His father had been a diplomat and died of Bendii Syndrome. Perrin was the name of the human woman he had taken to wife after Spock's mother had died. This Sarek, whomever he was, was not his father. His breath caught. "Sybok?"

"Still lives. He has become well known, as was his father."

Sybok was alive. His half-brother, alive! He hadn't seen his brother in over seventy years, when he commandeered the Enterprise to search for the mythical Sha-ka-ri, the place of creation. Sybok, upon learning of the futility of his search, and having placed the ship in danger, gave his life to save them.

Janeen would have loved to meet him, he thought. Then the full force of his loss hit him again. Janeen was dead, his wife, lover, friend. His future was lost. His eyes closed and his shoulders sagged.

Solare observed for several moments. Whoever this half-breed Vulcan was, wherever he'd come from, he was in a great deal of pain. The loss of a bond mate was devastating - Solare had witnessed it several times. Against all logic, some of those who survived a broken bond did not survive for long, willing themselves to death rather than face life alone. Solare could sympathize.

But he had a job to do, to find out all he could about this stranger and assess his potential danger. "How is it that you, and the humans on the starship, exist? We have been monitoring Terra for three hundred years. There has been no indication that they have barely achieved the technology for space flight, let alone actually gone into space."

Spock listened, his thoughts turning to the problem Solare presented. Earth, not in space? Zephram Cochrane had not broken the warp barrier? His flight had garnered the attention of the Vulcans and first contact had been made nearly three hundred and ten years ago.

Yet, this Solare had just told him that Earth was barely capable of thinking about space, had yet to try flight beyond their atmosphere. So what had happened while he was in his agony? Where had the Federation gone? Was this the reason Janeen was dead? Where was he?

He was weary. His thinking was impaired. He did not want to tackle any more problems than the one that had brought him to Vulcan. But something nagged at him from deep in his mind and he couldn't catch it. He tried to draw on thirty years as an officer and scientist, renowned in his own right. How was this familiar, how was it different?

"Alternate universe," he murmured softly.

"Explain."

Spock took a deep breath in an effort to will away his headache. "In any sense of reality, there can exist a single or multiple realities. It is theorized that there are doorways between these realities that when opened, allow individuals to pass through. It has also been theorized that should an individual from one reality meet his counterpart, both they and their realities would be destroyed. I have never heard of the theory being tested.

"It is an assumption when I say that it is possible that the Arkansas passed through one of those doorways into this reality. This is not our world, our universe. We need to return."

"If what you say is true, how would you find where to return to your reality?"

"Every starship is required to keep voyage records, especially when in an emergency situation. If we were to pull those records and review them, we should be able to find the anomaly that allowed us to pass into this reality." Having already swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Spock slid off of it. He had to grab the edge to steady himself. "Once we find that place, we can return there and attempt to reopen the doorway."

"And if you should fail?"

"We would have no choice but to remain here, in this reality, try to make a life here. Of course, our presence here could alter the natural course of this reality. We would have to settle on a suitable, uninhabited planet until we, or our descendants, could rejoin the galaxy. Perhaps never." Spock straightened. "I need to speak with Capt. Tremaine."

"You are not permitted at this time. Any activity with concerns to that ship must be approved by the High Council. You can not return to your vessel."

"I do not need to return to the Arkansas. They can transfer the records to a tricorder."

"Tricorder?"

"A device we use to record and store data. The ship can send one down to me with the information."

"The High Council must first approve."

Spock took a deep breath and pulled his dignity around him. "My Lord, my marriage bond is broken, my wife is dead, and I do not know how she died. I need to find the truth and bury my dead."

Solare bowed. "_Tushah nash-veh k'du_," he offered gently. "I will make the request of the High Council."

"_Nemiayo_, _S'haile_."

Komihn -human

Tushah nash-veh k'du - I grieve with thee

Nemiayo, S'Haile - Thank you, Lord


	6. Chapter 6

For a moment, Spock stood at the head of the aisle in the auditorium of the Pax Academy, watching as audience members claimed their seats and visited with friends and relatives. Students hurried up and down the aisles, seating people as well as handing out programs. There was a buzz of anticipation swirling around the room, the noise just loud enough to tingle in his ears. He concentrated for a moment to turn the sound level down in his head.

Head Mistress Landsdale hurried up the aisle towards him. "Ambassador Spock," she breathed, "I'm so glad you could make it tonight." She started to offer her hand in a polite shake, then withdrew it, remembering what she had been told. Vulcans did not indulge in casual handshakes, it would be inappropriate for her to offer and uncharacteristic for him to accept. Instead, she offered a direction for him to follow. "If you'll come this way…."

The seat to which she showed him was center front, first row. He had not expected such a prestigious place, and in fact, might have preferred something a little less conspicuous had he been consulted. There was no time to change now, as people began to take their seats while the houselights dimmed three times - the two minute warning.

Folding his coat he set it over his legs as he made himself comfortable. These chairs were typical school seats, wood with thin padding, designed to discourage students from becoming too comfortable. Between each seat a rollaway desk had been folded away, so the auditorium also served as a lecture room when required. To his right, Mistress Landsdale, after making one last greeting, with Ambassador Tau and his wife, seated herself. The chair to his left remained empty.

The house lights faded to black, a spotlight shone onto the left of the curtained stage. A hand appeared at the edge of the curtain, pulling it back. Janeen entered the stage from the side, walking to the center of the stage. The spotlight followed her progress. In her hand, she held a baton.

She wore a loose, pitch black sheath dress over a bright white shirt. Flat black shoes were on her feet. Her hair had been pulled severely back and fastened into what he knew was referred to as a bun. Several tendrils were left by either side of her face to gently frame her cheeks.

She stopped in the center of the stage. Looking out over the audience, she smiled at everyone, pleased at the turnout. But this was normal for the parents, relatives and friends of the students at the Academy. They were an aggressively supportive bunch. She let her gaze linger for an extra second on Spock before moving past him. She had not been sure of his attending because he had not been sure. There was a brouhaha - not his word - brewing somewhere in the galaxy, he had not told her where, just that he might have been required to leave prior to tonight.

When the audience silenced, she bowed reverently. "Welcome, parents, friends, teachers, and students. Tonight is our last concert of this year before the holiday break and I know the students, who developed the program, have put together one as befitting the season. So, with no further adieu, I present to you, 'Galaxy Festival.'" She lifted her hand and the curtains parted at the sound of applause to reveal a stage filled with children and instruments. Janeen took her place as conductor, tapping the baton on the lectern. The students raised their instruments, expectant. With a wave, the concert began.

Spock had to admit, as he sat through the presentation, that she was good, as were her students. No boasting needed. They followed her instructions as well as any professional group. He had sat through many concerts over the years on many different planets, an obligation made of and tolerated by visiting dignitaries.

He could count the number of social activities his position required of him. There were many. Some had been pleasant, some not much more than a waste of time, since nothing was accomplished except for excessive drinking and disparate swaggering. Spock did neither and was not interested in debating politics at social events. Mostly, he stayed long enough to satisfy his hosts and politely made his excuses to retire to his quarters.

He had also had reservations about coming here tonight. Spock knew the sort of people who sent their children here, he was even acquainted with some of them. He did not want to get into any political discussions tonight. His appearance minutes before the start of the event had been timed for just that reason. Whether or not he could get away with it at the end of the concert was debatable.

He and Janeen had been seeing each other for three standard months now. She was delightful company, always courteous and never expansive. She had impeccable manners and was quite conversant, in several languages he discovered. She was beautiful and knew it, but not one bit conceited. She dressed well, but not flashy, no matter the occasion. She was confident, most of the time. The only time he had seen her hesitant was the first time he had brought her to an official dinner. She had been unsure on precisely how to act.

Spock had reminded her that she dealt with extraterrestrial species everyday, including their parents. Use what she knew from that and she would be fine. She did and he had been right. The evening had gone well. Spock had later received a message from his guests not only in appreciation for the dinner but with compliments on his companion.

They were getting closer emotionally. He found as each day passed, he became aware of her more and more in his thoughts. Spock 'felt' her presence with him during the day. At one point, he would have sworn that he had heard her in his head. She was playing music, her thoughts intense as her fingers ran over the keys of the piano. For a second, she faltered, as if aware of his intrusion, finally picking up from where she had left off, concentrating on the exercise. The image had faded.

He had given it due consideration, then dismissed it as so much fantasy. Unless she was telepathic, which he doubted. It would have been in her dossier. There was a possibility she was a latent telepath, unaware of her ability. They had not touched yet, not skin to skin. He should not have been having these sensations of awareness with a person he had not touched.

A growing need to be with her occurred uncontrolled more and more, sometimes when it was most inappropriate. He would drift off away from the conversation, returning at a polite clearing of the throat and pointed looks from David or St'van, whichever one of them, or both, had accompanied him to the meeting.

David had begun to suspect something was up. He had never seen the ambassador so easily distracted before, save for the one time he had gone into _pon farr_ and departed to Vulcan. There were females trained to handle unbonded males, no permanence required after the fires had burned themselves out. They were also prepared to insure no children resulted from the mating encounter. Vulcan was civilized enough to realize that unbonded males, especially those from very prestigious houses, were worth the availability of trained females and the security of knowing that they would have no further obligation resulting from a biological imperative. When Spock had returned, he had been his old self, ready to get back to business.

Over the last two months, he had become more involved in his own calendar, especially with regards to the evening hours. Spock had three times told David to include one more in those scheduled social dinners he attended with visiting diplomats. The CoS suspected a woman was involved but had, as yet, no clear confirmation. Short of spying on the Vulcan, he would have to wait until Spock decided to tell him.

Only once had there been a call that had first gone through St'van to the ambassador. After that, there was one person who contacted him using his personal frequency who was not A Halil and during which David was not permitted to proctor. As soon as Spock recognized who was calling, he had asked David to allow him privacy. If St'van knew anything, being Spock's primary contact filterer, he was as tight lipped about it as Spock.

Spock hadn't been quite sure about the outcome of that first walk. He hadn't been sure if he should have been disappointed or insulted that Janeen had not readily given him a personal contact number. Yet, in all fairness, he had not offered his to her. Could it be that they were both unsure and wary of each other, despite having shared _that_ feeling?

Spock did not know how to respond. He'd rarely had an opportunity to relate with a woman while not under the constraints of some outside influence. There had been one, a very long time ago, but T'Priss had died in the service of her duty on board the Enterprise before he could detach himself from the bonding he had shared with T'Pring. Even Leila had loved him at a time in his life when he could not return the affection until he'd come under the influence of the spores that had invaded her colony on Omicron Ceti III. This was entirely different.

He remembered how it had felt when Janeen had fallen onto him. His body's reaction, however mild, had startled him. It had been a wake up call without the onset of _pon farr. _Spock remembered the feel of her breast in his hand, scolding himself as being no better than a hormonal teenaged human boy when he found his fingertips rubbing together in memory.

His human half was awake and screaming at him to do something. Vulcans were not asexual beings. They did not need _pon farr _to have and even enjoy the sexual act. Could his human half have finally had enough of his Vulcan excuses and decided to take control? He was a complex organism, half human and half Vulcan. The first of his kind, still creating puzzles for scientists and doctors in the medical field. Spock believed it was probable, but only by talking it over with someone, perhaps his physician, could he possibly confirm the idea. And he was not ready to speak with anyone concerning Janeen Simmons.

Spock knew he could satisfy her, both physically and emotionally, if a relationship developed. His life was so much more different from what it had been on the Enterprise. He had grown a great deal in the realm of handling his emotions. If he were asked, he could honestly answer the question, 'How do you feel?' without couching it in terms that had no sentiment. He could and would admit to happiness and sadness, and loneliness.

There was the gist of it all. Spock was lonely. Sharing David's family was fine, but it was still sharing. He wanted a home of his own, not a house or apartment, but a home, with a wife and children. Children were the future and he had none. No children, no future. When his life was over, there would be few to remember him and put out the coals at the family lands. Spock was feeling his mortality and he was not pleased.

Yet he was not ready to head to Vulcan to fulfill family obligations just to fulfill family obligations. He had had enough of it while a child. And though he admitted to the illogic of his continued distaste, he was also ready to accept that he was still too put off by the reception he found at the hands of many of his fellow Vulcans to yield completely to tradition and disciplines simply because he claimed to be Vulcan. He was half human and just as proud of that fact. A human wife was not out of the realm of possibility.

To have her elicit a desire out of him without any artifice stunned him. Women fell all over themselves for him, seeking to heal the person they thought he was. He did not need it. He did need to be wanted for himself and loved for himself. He was not an orphaned waif or a social services project.

His musings had carried him through the program. Half of him had actually listened to the music. He could truthfully discuss the presentation if asked. Janeen had done an excellent job. Her students had a genuine love for the music and their instruments and had given it the quality only a professional performance could demand.

Janeen faced the audience and bowed, opening her hands to include the students responsible for the program in the applause that rose enthusiastically. Holding her hands out, palms down, she asked for quiet. "Thank you so much for your enthusiastic appreciation. I was told just tonight that my students have one last song they would like to perform for you, so I would like to turn my baton over to senior Alika Malorae. Mr. Malorae, as some of you may know, has been accepted to the New York Conservatory starting with the new semester and we are very proud of him." She offered her baton to a student who came forward from the strings section as the audience applauded. Janeen left the stage to take the seat that had remained empty to Spock's left during the entire concert, sitting with a sigh. Taking his cue from what Janeen had done earlier, Malorae tapped the lectern and raised the baton in preparation to start. A young woman, an older student, drifted onto the stage to take a place to the right side, a microphone clipped to the bodice of her evening gown.

As soon as the music began, Janeen gasped and slid slowly into the chair. A hand rose to cover her forehead, hiding her eyes.

"What is wrong?" Spock asked softly.

"I can't believe they did this," she whispered huskily, her hand dropping to her lap. Her head shook twice.

Spock paid special attention to the presentation, soon realizing why she had sunk down in abject misery. Her students had obviously not cleared this with her prior to tonight. Such a breach was inexcusable, but nothing could be done now.

It was a love song the girl was singing, a song about finding a person who may be the one, but also about the unsurety of that and how to handle it and questioning if the one should even tell the other. The other's true feelings had been unstated. The song was beautiful in its poignancy and simplicity, accompanied by the softer instruments in the orchestra as befitting a woman expressing her heart's confusion.

Not a soul spoke, there was not another sound in the auditorium as the song played out, a tribute to its beauty and the rendition. Had it not been 'stolen,' so to speak, Spock would have enjoyed it immensely. The song spoke from the heart to the heart, and every living creature in the auditorium tonight had one.

When it finished, Malorae took the hand of the songstress and together they bowed to the applause as they swept their unclutched hands out for the orchestra's due accolades. They then pointedly bowed to Janeen, who'd finally, towards the song's end, risen in the chair, her face flushed red. The two stepped back as the curtains drew closed.

Spock could feel waves of confusion and humiliation flowing off of her, emotions that he did not understand until he looked into her eyes. There he saw desperation and fear and it suddenly occurred to him that Janeen had written the song and was the woman who had been so heartrendingly trying to figure out her heart. And his.

"We shall talk," he promised before Janeen found herself surrounded by colleagues and parents, all wanting to congratulate her on a wonderful performance.

"Ambassador Spock," he heard from behind. Tau approached, his wife with him. Spock knew both of them from many missions they had shared. The Vulcan bowed his head in recognition.

"Ambassador, Madam Tau."

"You have a relative at the Pax?"

Spock shook his head once. "I am acquainted with a member of the orchestra."

"So, what did you think of the performance?"

"It was as professional as any I have previously enjoyed."

"My grandson attends here, plays the flute. I have to say, our Miss Simmons is quite a teacher. Kyoko is always singing her praises to our daughter. I even think he might get a scholarship out of her efforts."

"She appears most involved with her students," he replied cautiously.

The students began to file out from the stage. A middle teen aged boy of Oriental descent came stand next to Ambassador Tau, his face beaming in a wide smile. The ambassador placed an arm around the boy's shoulders lovingly. "Spock, this is Kyoko. Kyoko, this is Ambassador Spock. We have known each other and debated many times for several years now."

The boy held out his hand, which his grandfather quickly, but gently lowered. "Just bow, Kyoko," he instructed.

"I am honored to meet you, Ambassador," he greeted.

Spock returned the bow. "Your presentation was most enjoyable. Thank you."

The child's smile got even wider, already over his mild faux pas. "Grandfather, may I go see Umara?"

"Yes, run along." The child skipped away and Tau turned adoring though embarrassed eyes towards Spock. "Children," he grumbled affectionately. Spock would not know. Sarek would have shamed him terribly if Spock had even considered skipping away. Vulcan children did not walk in joy or sorrow, they just did, tightly and controlled and only if there was no other way to get from one place to another. "Yes, well, we need to find our daughter so we might leave. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Spock."

Spock watched Janeen, still surrounded by others until he was accosted by another acquaintance, a Tellurite, and pulled into a political discussion. The two were joined by a third. Spock tried to extricate himself, but each time he was wrapped back into the topic until he heard a familiar and teasing voice.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure the ambassador would rather have this discussion in the Council chambers. Tonight is supposed to be for entertainment, not shop talk." Both men deferred to Janeen's subtle hint, bade Spock and her goodnight and backed off.

He faced her. "Thank you. Tellurites have always seemed to be incapable of discerning the difference between a social and an official event."

"If you mean they like to argue anytime and anywhere, you're right." She switched her coat, which she had picked up while his attention had been diverted, from one arm to the other. The auditorium appeared near deserted. "Besides, I haven't heard anything complimentary about that one. I'm glad I don't have his daughter in any of my classes." She slipped her coat on, pulling her hair, which she had released from its confines, from under the collar. "I don't know about you, but I'm famished."

"Something to eat would be pleasant."

"Good. I know a cozy little restaurant just down the street." She buttoned the garment. "Even has a few Vulcan items on the menu."

"Indeed?" he asked, following as he pulled on and closed his coat.

"I heard they just added them. Must be a growing Vulcan population in the city to cater to."

"The Vulcan embassy is not far from here. Perhaps they have decided to entice their patronage."

"I've eaten there a few times though not recently. And since we don't get any Vulcan students…" She left the sentence hang. They had talked about this early on in their relationship. She had not been offended that Vulcans did not make use of the school. Janeen granted that if a child could get a better education somewhere else, then he or she should certainly be allowed to do so. It did not affect the standing of the Pax. "I'd like to try it again, my treat."

"I do not understand, 'your treat?'" The air outside was fresh and cool, winter starting to make its presence felt in the city. She knew he didn't tolerate cold temperatures well for a long period of time so her pace quickened to get him out of the chill.

"I'm paying for the meal." Her glance was serious. "You really didn't understand?" she asked, amazed.

"I have lived amongst humans for most of my life and yet your idioms still confuse me. I do not understand this predilection for couching things in innuendo."

"I think a lot of them come from things that are associated with certain cultures over a long period of time. Or a certain behavior."

"Or characteristic," he added, thinking of all of the things that people said about Vulcans that he heard used constantly.

She looked up at him. "Yes, I guess you might be familiar with some of them, though not in a good way I'm sure."

"Most of them have to do with the color of our blood or our philosophy."

"Prejudices can still run pretty deep."

"And prejudices can trace their origins often back to the people against whom they are targeted. Vulcans, by virtue of their own inheritance, are not an open race."

"Not open, just not as easily forthcoming as others would like." She giggled. "Like pulling teeth out of an elephant."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Something that can be done, just not easily."

"Ah, yes. Of course," he agreed. "You may make it your treat, Miss Simmons," he granted.

She lead up to a doorway that entered into a small café type restaurant. "I hope you'll like it." He pulled the door open for her.

"I believe my mother used to say 'the proof is in the pudding.' "

"You have that one right, Ambassador," she congratulated with a laugh.

They were shown to a table for two just beyond the middle of the room. To the left as one entered was the kitchen. Two rows of tables provided seating, one row against the wall, the other row splitting the restaurant in half. The restaurant was not crowded, but there were a fair number of people already seated in varying degrees of dining. The atmosphere was comfortably close, the general buzz of conversation not loud and overwhelming.

Spock held her coat as she let it slide from her arms. Taking it from him, she draped it along the back of her chair. He followed suit with his own. A waiter hurried over to pass out menus and see if he could take a drink order. They both asked for water.

"About that last song…" she started once the water had been placed on the table.

"The one you wrote?"

"You caught that, huh?"

"I would not have known were it not for your reaction to it."

She blushed a bright red. She toyed with her glass, trailing her fingertip along a line of condensation. "Well, I was just trying to work through some things. I never realized any of the students even knew about it, let alone would play it. They will be receiving a strong dressing down next time we get together."

She shrugged. "I guess I should be thankful it was_ not _listed in the program."

"I thought the song quite enlightening." She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "We have been 'dating' for three months now, essentially in secret."

"If you consider having dinner with a group of Gammerites secret, then yes, I imagine so."

"Gammerites, while quite garrulous, are not pretentious."

"They don't kiss and tell."

He thought about that for a moment before nodding. "Exactly. Neither my Chief of Staff or secretary know of our relationship, though I deem they suspect."

"And just what is our relationship, Mr. Ambassador?"

"Enough that I believe you should call me Spock. I would ask your permission to use your given name."

Janeen gave it a heartbeat of thought before answering. "Of course you may," she allowed.

"Janeen," he said, savoring the word on his lips a second. "Janeen, I would like to make our relationship more public."

The waiter approached to ask if they had made their selections. Janeen ordered a chowder with hushpuppies and Spock requested _barkaya_ with a side of grilled _mashya. _The waiter complimented them on their choices, grabbed the menus, and left to place the order.

"More public, huh?" she asked going back to their conversation. "Does that mean you plan to take out an ad on the newsvid?"

He smiled. She had a way of expressing herself that reminded him of McCoy. "No. It means I am asking you to accompany me to the Federation Annual Ball in ten days - as my date."

"Oh," she whispered in shock, her eyes widening.

The Federation Annual Ball was the social event of the year. To it would come ministers, rulers, princes, leaders, statesmen, ambassadors, and admirals from throughout the galaxy. There would be high level officials, including the Starfleet Commander in Chief and the Federation President. It was the invitation sought out by anyone would wanted to advance in politics, and attendance was by invitation only.

Spock was invited every year, and nearly every year he found an excuse to not be available and as far away as he could get from the planet on which the Ball was being held that year.

This year, the Ball was to be held on Earth and in San Fransisco, on the grounds of the Starfleet Academy. The city had been buzzing with preparations for weeks. Not only had Spock received an invitation as he did each year, but it had been followed up by a direct request from the President to be in attendance. He could not refuse.

If Spock was going to go, he was going to take Janeen. If she agreed. He had decided it would be a good way to introduce her to his world and make very public that he was involved with someone.

And if he were honest with himself, he wanted to take her. He wanted to share this event with her and was willing to admit there was some masculine ego involved. She was beautiful and intelligent and poised and would make an excellent companion. She would not only fit into this world where status mattered, but most likely eclipse many of the people in attendance.

He was also starting to think in terms of a permanent relationship with her. Spock was beginning to feel half there when not with her and whole when he was.

He wanted all of the rights that came with a personal, and private, relationship. He wanted to be able to touch her and have her know the intimate bond that flowed between two people when touched. He wanted to show her all of the ways he knew to make love and discover new ones with her. It wasn't just the mental connection that was increasing between them, his physical responses in her presence were becoming undeniable. He wanted to love her and have her love him in return.

Spock's morals were such that he could never commit a physical act with a woman, even with her permission, without a commitment of some sort on his part. Humans were too quick to indulge in casual sex. Encounters happened all of the time on the Enterprise. Mix men and women in an limited enclosed space then send them off for five years and certainly a number of liaisons would grow among the crew. They were tolerated as long as efficiency and harmony was not affected and stayed within regulation.

Jim Kirk had fallen in love on a regular basis and always managed to find ways to give himself regular relief from his sexual appetites. Spock had not begrudged him that. Kirk had been a passionate, healthy man in the prime of life. If while on shore leave, he'd connected with a willing woman, that was his business, as long as he was in the Captain's chair and fit for command at the end of his leave. Anything else became Spock's concern, or Dr. McCoys's.

But Spock was no longer a second in command. He was no longer a bonded Vulcan male. His only responsibilities on a personal level were to himself and he was ready to answer to some of those responsibilities in his own way. He wanted to.

Her silence was drawn out. She was tracing a finger around the rim of her water glass. "Janeen?"

She looked at him as though through him for a heartbeat. "Wha…I'm sorry. You threw me for a moment."

"I did not intend to disturb you."

"That's not the way to do it then," she said drolly. "What does attendance involve?"

"Nothing that good manners does not dictate. There will be dinner and dancing. We may stay as long as we wish. I have been asked personally by A Halil to attend, I must be there. I would like you to attend with me."

"That's certainly going public."

"It will be in a controlled environment. There will be news organizations, of course. With the President, they gather around him like flies. I also, am always a target for their holos. You will be part of that, and I will do what I can to minimize the fallout."

"The Pax may or may not appreciate that."

"Will your position suffer?"

"No. In fact, the publicity might even help, not only the school, but my position as well." She raised her hands in warding. "Not that I care about enhancing my position. As far as the Pax is concerned, I don't want to advance any further than where I am. I like my children and I love teaching." She tilted her head as she had a consideration. "Though I am up for tenure again this spring," she said thoughtfully.

"This will assure you getting tenure?"

"No, but it won't hurt."

The waiter arrived with their dishes and set them out, asking if they needed anything else. With a negative response from the two diners, he left to address other customers.

"I didn't mean to sound so venal, Ambassador." He gave her a significant look. "Spock," she corrected. "I want tenure of course, but on my own merits, not because of any connections I may have." She ripped one of the hushpuppies in half and nibbled. "Besides, if they denied me tenure, and I left, it would be their loss, not mine."

"I would agree."

They ate in silence for a moment. The _barkaya_ was acceptable for being prepared off-world. Spock decided that the cook, if he intended to continue to offer Vulcan dishes, might want to consider actually going to Vulcan to study the art prior to employing his talents. Once word got around, Spock did not believe many Vulcans would patronize the establishment.

"You have not responded to my request," he reminded her.

"Is there anything else I need to know?"

"The occasion is formal."

She again became thoughtful, running through her wardrobe in her mind. "I'll have to get a dress."

"You may charge the expense to me."

Janeen very carefully set her spoon down on the bread plate and wiped at her mouth before giving him a baleful glare. "Are you insulting me?" His eyes flashed in surprise at her offense. "I can certainly afford a dress." He obviously had little idea of her salary and she could forgive that, if that were the truth.

"I did not mean to insult you. While the Ball is a social function, A Halil specifically requested I attend. That makes it official. You should not be expected to bear the costs for an official affair."

"But I can, and I will. Thank you, but no, I will buy my own dress."

"Will you inform me of the colors so that I may dress accordingly?"

"I shall. I'll go out tomorrow and start looking. And Spock, I'd be honored to go with you."

He bowed his head in appreciation. "Thank you."

"How is your….?"

"_Barkaya_," he supplied. "It is acceptable."

"Not quite like home is it?"

"How would you know?"

"You gave the bowl a second look after the first taste, and you've been sipping at it as though it were poisoned. If there is something else you want…"

"No, this will do."

"I've also noticed that things are 'acceptable' for you when they're not just the way you like. In other words, it could stand some improvement."

"You are quite perceptive."

"I've picked up a few clues. Your eyes are very expressive."

"Indeed?"

"You control your body language very well. But what you're thinking, what you're feeling, it comes out in your eyes."

He knew this and had always tried to master it. He had believed he had by now. He'd been corrected about it enough before, especially as a child in the face if his father's censure. He could stand rigid and stiff and take a scolding, but even Sarek could recognize the emotion seething inside his son by looking at his eyes, when he took the time to look. Sarek would then correct him anew. He had thought it controlled by the time he'd boarded the Enterprise, but both Kirk and McCoy had learned to read him like a book when they looked.

"Anyway, to go back to the beginning, I apologize for that song. It was never meant for you to hear."

"Why would you not want me to know how you are feeling?"

"I can give you any number of reasons. But not here. It's too crowded. Golden Gate Park is not too far, if it's not too cold for you."

He pushed what was left of his meal away. "I am ready when you are."

She paid the chit and he helped her with her coat, pulling his on as they left. The night was clear, the sky filled with stars. The streets were emptying of commuters and the general public. By the time they reached the park, most everyone was already heading home, if not home.

The caretakers of the park realized the treasure they held in their care. The lights from the Bridge and the sky above provided all of the illumination needed for anyone inclined to visit the park before dark. At night, darkened paths were softly lit with ground level lamps. Benches were scattered around in strategic places for quiet contemplation or a lovers' hideaway to steal a kiss. Trees provided shade in the heat of summer while grassy knolls allowed space for children to frolic and picnickers to dine in old fashioned style. Spock remembered as a cadet spending a great deal of his free time here, people watching, learning, absorbing.

They followed a path until it lead them to a place where the view of the Bridge was best. She leaned forward against the rail, gazing out over the bay and the rest of the city beyond. There was a full moon to add to the brilliance of the star filled heaven, it light dancing over the waves of the Bay, sparkling the crests with moonbeams. "It's really beautiful here."

He was gazing at her when he replied. "Yes, it is."

She turned her gaze skyward. "I've never been there."

"Where?"

"To the stars, to the other planets out there. My father is an officer with Starfleet in Seattle, but he's been earthbound for the last twenty-five years."

"I reviewed his record when I looked at your dossier. Capt. Gary Simmons, assigned to the Seattle Space Port computer section."

She made a very unlady like sound as she looked over her shoulder at him. "Should have known," she huffed softly. Her eyes turned away. "He's been very content staying at home with my mother. If he ever traveled, it was before I came along or I was too young to remember.

"It's so ironic. I teach children from all over the galaxy, I hear stories from all of them about their homes. You would think that I would have, at least once, visited a few of them."

He was surprised by her admission. "You have never traveled?"

"Not out there. How many times a year do you get on a ship and go out there? Six, eight, ten, more?" Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "I'm thirty years old, and my feet have never left the ground."

"Why?" he asked when she seemed to become lost in her thoughts.

She shrugged. "I don't know. When I had the time, I didn't think about it, and when I thought about it I never had the time. Surely, I'm not the only one who has never left Earth."

"No, you are not. However, I would have thought with your talents and interests that you might have found other opportunities off planet."

"When you're happy, why change?"

"But are you happy?" he asked with gentleness.

She faced him again, studying the sidewalk at their feet before looking into his eyes. "Happy? Yes, I think so. I love teaching. I'd really love to be able to get out of the confines of organized teaching. But the bills have to be paid somehow."

"You would tutor?"

Deep affection filled her voice. "Music."

Spock understood some of her conflict, to have a passion for something and not be able to follow it. "My father wanted me to stay on Vulcan to attend the Vulcan Science Academy. From there, I would have become a teacher. He was not ...pleased…with my choice of Starfleet."

"I had read that you didn't return to Vulcan for a long time after enlisting."

"Sarek believed the military component of Starfleet was contrary to the Vulcan philosophy of peace. He was quite adamant. I disagreed. He wanted his son to follow in his footsteps."

"Then he was a fool." Her statement brought a sharp glance from him. "_Ex astris scientia_," she murmured softly. Spock nodded thoughtfully as his mind translated. 'From the stars - knowledge,' she'd quoted. "Where better for a scientist to learn than out among the stars? Children should be allowed to explore. Parents are meant to be guides, not dictators.

"And you did follow in his footsteps. Where better for a future diplomat to understand other peoples than from being among them?"

"What of children of your own? Are you content to be a teacher to those of others and never your own?"

She took a deep breath before answering. "I would like children someday. It gets farther and farther away with every year," she added softly, sadly. "I'm a little old fashioned in that, husband first _then_ kids." This conversation was getting a little too personal for her.

She turned her face skyward again. "Where is your home? Can you see its star from here?"

Spock glanced up and searched the sky, then pointed. "There, that is the sun for my home world."

She followed the direction in which he indicated. "The bright one that seems to sparkle?"

He winced slightly at the 'sparkle' term, but… "Yes. It is known as 40 Eridani in the star charts."

He waited as she continued to gaze at the night sky, her elbows on the rail, her chin on her folded hands.

"Janeen," he finally murmured, "will you not tell me why you wrote that song?"

She sighed deeply but didn't turn. "I've never dated anyone more than two or three times. They never held my interest long enough, or wanted something I've not been able to give.

"We've been out a dozen times or so now. I've never grown tired of it, of being with you. I think I'm in love with you." She sighed again. "You've never held me, never kissed me, you've never even held my hand. You've never been more than very proper and you've never asked anything of me. Still, I think I'm in love with you. That day, in the Market, when I looked into your eyes, I felt as though I'd found the other half of my soul."

"You say you can read my eyes. Tell me what you see in them now."

She turned and scanned his face for a long time, her eyes penetrating into his, searching. "Confidence," she decided firmly.

"If you found even a poorly written treatise on Vulcan, it would have mentioned that we are a telepathic race. I am a touch telepath. Have you not wondered why I do not allow touch? To do so would open my mind to the thoughts and emotions of the people I contact. I…we…protect ourselves from such unwanted intrusions by refraining from such common practices as handshakes and hugs. Humans use them so casually. Perhaps that is part of the source of our being considered a standoffish and cold race.

"However, since I have met you, I have not had to physically touch you to feel you in my mind. You are already and always there. You intrude upon my day and invade my dreams. You interrupt my meditations and intervene on me in the middle of meetings." Spock gave a great imitation of a Vulcan rolling his eyes. "Cmdr. McFey is beginning to wonder if I am suffering a mental breakdown," he added wryly. His chest rose in a deep breath.

"I do not understand how we, as strangers, could have formed such a bond, but it is there, and it grows with each day and each meeting. Had I touched you, skin to skin, it would have done this." He held his hand up, palm out as though in the Vulcan greeting, his fingers equidistant. The invitation was open.

She stared at him for a good long minute before her eyes drifted to his hand and the unspoken grant. Her own hands fisted, unsure whether or not to accept his invitation and that by closing her hands, it would ease the burden of refusal. She had admired his hands, the skin mildly darkened from sun exposure but smooth, his fingers long and delicate, the nails neatly trimmed and clean. He had the hands of a musician which she found attractive of and by themselves alone.

Hesitantly, she raised her hand to fit it against his. A sharp breath hissed through her at the contact as an aura of awareness settled over her mind like a soft caress. Her eyes gently closed. For a moment she could see into him, see the confusion he'd first felt and the confidence that had grown as they had begun to know each other. She could 'feel' his smile and the 'I told you so' impression he sent to her. She wondered just how much of her he could 'see' and what he would do with it. His thoughts turned to ones of assurance. Her confidences were safe with him. She whimpered softly.

Spock was aware of everything she was going through. He'd been there before as a child and adult. These encounters could be a nuisance at times. He had learned young to hold his hands behind his back to discourage others, but there were times when he had no choice but to accept the offer. Should someone make a contact that he did not wish, he would tolerate being in their presence for as long as necessary then retreat to a sanctuary to purge himself of the input. It was one of the drawbacks of his position and he guarded himself well when he could. Shields and rumors about Vulcan apathy came in handy.

With Janeen, this was different. The warmth of his hand against her cool one was most likely surprising. Most humans did not realize the heat of the Vulcan body until they felt it for themselves. Against human standards, Vulcans always seemed to have a fever. But once the contact had been made, his heat had not disturbed her.

She wondered at and accepted the link, mind to mind, musing over if he could 'feel' her and how much he actually understood. Would he use it against her in some way? There was a momentary impression of apprehension. He sent her assurances and decided to end the contact.

His hand fell. "Do you understand now?"

Janeen felt as though she had been knocked to the pathway. Taking a deep breath, her hand to her chest, she nodded. When she had herself composed, she straightened her shoulders. "With everyone you touch?" she asked in awe.

"As long as they are sentient beings, yes."

"But this connection you said we share?"

"It is possible you have latent telepathic abilities. I would have to explore further to find out for sure." His brow furrowed. "I have only had such a connection with two others and it developed over a period of time much longer than you and I have had."

Janeen couldn't stop the surge of jealousy. "With other women?"

Spock's smile was understanding. Now that he had touched her, she was, emotionally, almost an open a book to him. He was flattered. "They were my longtime shipmates and friends, Capt. Kirk and Dr. McCoy."

"Forgive me," she apologized. "I had no right."

"There is no reason to apologize. I am flattered that you feel this way." With the curve of his index finger, he raised her chin to meet his look. "And you have every right," he allowed.


	7. Chapter 7

"Janeen, will you please sit down?" Alyssa Garnham pleaded for the fifth time. They'd been at it now for nearly a half hour.

Janeen was pacing her apartment, one hand against her stomach, breathing hard to keep from losing the little contents it contained. "I can't. Oh God, I didn't think it would be this bad."

"What?"

"Think about it. The Federation Ball," she said. "_The Federation Ball,_" she repeated louder. "The biggest social event of the year in the galaxy."

Alyssa tried a different tact. "Just think of them as big students."

Janeen barked a hoot of laughter. " 'Students' who have the power to change planets, the galaxy, if they put their minds to it."

"Look, you deal with these kind of people everyday…"

"Oh no, this is much bigger. The President of the Federation will be there, the CiC of Starfleet; this is the big time of big times." Janeen threw her arms up. "And who am I going with?" she asked no one in particular. "Only the premiere ambassador of the entire bunch."

"And a bachelor."

Janeen suddenly stopped in her pacing. "And a bachelor," she breathed. "He picked tonight to make our relationship known publicly."

Alyssa rose to go to the sideboard. Turning over a tumbler, she pulled the stopper from one bottle and poured a finger of brandy into a glass. "Here," she said offering the drink.

The other woman downed some of the liquid without thinking and began to choke lightly. "Good grief, you could've warned me," she accused, leaning slightly forward to avoid spilling on her dress, swiping at her mouth with a hand.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you don't calm."

She made a derisive sound. "About five of these and a half dozen tranquilizers might have an effect."

Alyssa laughed. "Oh, right, great impression. Ambassador Spock brings the first drunk of the night to the party."

Janeen dropped into one of the living room chairs. "Thanks. I think." She took another sip of the brandy as the chronometer chimed out the time. The relative moment of calm vanished as she jumped up. "He'll be here any moment." She thrust the glass into her friend's hand. "Here. I need to freshen up before he arrives." She disappeared down a hallway to the bath.

Alyssa raised the glass in a toast. "And _he's_ never late," she said to the empty room before finishing off the dregs of the alcohol.

As Janeen returned, she brushed at the skirt of her dress. The ethereal garment with a white under sheath clung to her breasts lovingly and fell from there in soft waves to the floor. Had she taken the sides of the gown and tossed them into the air, the material and colors would have made her appear to be surrounded by wisps of smoke. It had cost a fortune, but she had wanted to reflect well on the ambassador. The colors of tan, brown, blue, and gray matched perfectly to each other as well as harmonized to her own coloring - soft, sinuous, and graceful. She'd gathered her hair into a fall of curls that fell over her shoulders, but was essentially free from binding.

A single jeweled necklace graced her throat, the same blue gem that she had worn the first time they had walked together. Matching earrings were attached to her lobes.

"Honestly, you've never acted so nervous before," Alyssa continued as Janeen came in, fidgeting with her hair.

"I know. I don't know what's wrong either."

All she needed was a deep perusal and Alyssa's eyes widened. "You love him."

Janeen's movements stilled. "Yes, I do. And he knows."

"Oh, Janeen."

"Yeah, I know. It's impossible if he doesn't love me. I mean, I know he likes me, I wouldn't be going to the Ball if not. But where he wants to go from there, I don't know."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Love me? Want to go farther in our relationship? Hell, Alyssa, what can I do?"

"Forget about it?"

"No, not this time." A faraway look crossed her features. She sighed softly. "It's different this time. It would be too much to handle."

"You'd leave?"

"I'd have to. I couldn't stay in the city, not if he's going to be here. I could find a post somewhere else, or go off planet finally."

Alyssa stood in front her friend, searching her expression, her own softening at the love and confusion and even the hurt she found. Alyssa enfolded her friend in a hug. "I'm so sorry," she whispered in Janeen's ear as the door chimed. The hug was warm and sincere, lasting a full minute until both women leaned away from each other. "You look beautiful," Alyssa complimented before turning Janeen to the door. With one hand under her breasts, she took a deep breath then let it out to calm.

While she had been dealing with her demons, she had not been aware that on the other side of the door, Spock had been dealing with demons of his own. He had arrived early enough to assure that they would get to the Academy grounds with time to spare. He had been about to ring the chime when his hand stayed, a wave of uncertainty flooding him.

Spock recognized from where the feelings were emanating. Janeen was having an attack of nerves. He didn't know why, she was a confident and intelligent woman. She could easily hold her own against any of the attendees tonight.

The feeling then passed as quickly as it had come, but something remained - from him. Spock was having his own qualms about his intentions. That he was having this onslaught of emotion was disturbing. He knew how she felt about him. He'd memorized her confession of ten days ago. Until that blast of uncertainty had hit him, he'd been sure himself that the path he was taking was right. It was what he wanted.

Spock didn't think he was being selfish. His concerns were for her. Could she be content? He was what he was, though today he was much different than the being he had been when Christine Chapel had declared her love for him. Christine would have grown tired of carrying the half of him that he had kept tightly bound inside.

But he was no longer that person, he reminded himself. He could love and cherish a woman and make her know it. Not in the subtle ways that Sarek and Amanda had, but out in the open, in front of others if necessary, without hesitation or qualm. Spock had not known earlier, but as he had struggled with his thoughts standing outside of her door, he came to realize that tonight his life was going to change forever. He rang the chime.

Janeen surpassed every woman he'd ever known. If a smile could be brilliant, hers outshone it. Spock could not imagine from where she'd gotten the dress. Had he been a woman, he would have wanted the name of the designer. She was gorgeous, ethereal, elfin, a creature that men only saw in their dreams and fairy tales. He was honored.

"Hi," she breathed softly. Spock was handsome in pitch black trousers, snow white turtle-necked shirt and softly shimmering, royal blue tunic. Down the right side of the tunic, Vulcan glyphs were embroidered from the shoulder to the waist, his clan name and his standing in the hierarchy. The head of the clan _Telek-sen-deen _was an inherited title, and it was his. Over his left breast was pinned a Vulcan IDIC-Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. A chain from the pin wrapped around his neck.

"Good evening."

She opened the door further inviting him in. "You remember Alyssa Garnham?"

"Good evening, Miss Garnham."

"Ambassador."

He gave his attention back to Janeen. "There is a car waiting downstairs. Are you ready?"

"Just have to get my coat." She went to the closet and pulled out a wrap. Spock took it from her hands and held it for her to don.

As she buttoned the garment, Alyssa gave her another hug. "It'll all work out. I'll lock up. Have a good night."

Janeen took a deep breath as they waited in the queue of landcars outside the Academy auditorium. Her hand covered her stomach.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"Nervous." She glanced ahead. The line of cars stretched the entire length of the drive before the building. Gathered around the entrance, dozens of people waited for the important and not so important to arrive, reporters searching for a headline and citizens simply interested in 'star gazing.'

"There is no reason for you to feel nervous, Janeen. They are just people."

"Don't you start on me," she warned firmly. She was instantly contrite, shaking her head to shake away her concerns. "I'm sorry, Alyssa has been saying that all evening." She used her hand to indicate the crowd. "You might be used to this, but it's a first for me."

"Just be yourself. It has not failed you prior to tonight." Despite his assurances, she still shook her head very slightly. Spock flipped the comm switch between the back seat and the driver. "We will disembark here."

The driver put the vehicle in park and jumped out, running around the car to open Spock's door. Spock moved out, flinging his cloak around his shoulders before reaching his hand back into the car to help Janeen. The driver closed the door.

"I will let you know when we are ready to leave."

The driver acknowledged with a small bow from the waist. "Ambassador. Madam. Have a pleasant evening."

Spock draped Janeen's arm through his to lead the way. As they came closer to the line of attendees waiting for entrance or speaking to reporters, her step faltered once more. He faced her with a smile. "Janeen, your hesitation is baseless. With the exception of anatomical differences, these people are no different from you or I. They eat, sleep, love, and live the same as we. They are not perfect, no matter what they may think of themselves." He sent her a boost of confidence. "Do not do this to yourself. You have no reason to feel inferior. You are intelligent and confident. I am honored to have you with me."

And then to put his words into action, he gently raised her face skyward. She looked into his eyes, trying to read what she saw there, and all she saw was his affection for her. He gently smoothed his thumb along her cheek as his head lowered closer, then closer still, his lips pursing slightly before turning up at the corners in a smile. He touched her lips with his in a gentle, brief kiss.

Spock waited until she came off of whatever plane she'd gone to from the kiss. With a soft touch to her shoulder, he smiled again. "Come, let us go in."

Inside, there must have been close to five hundred people. After dropping their coats at a coat check, Spock lead her into the hospitality room, the meet and greet part of the evening. A band played softly in one corner, people mingled shoulder to shoulder, several bars gave guests a chance to quench their thirst prior to dinner. Servers in smart uniforms dodged through the attendees with drink trays and hors d'oeuvres. Cadets in dress uniform served as directors, answering questions for the guests, delivering messages if one person wished to find another, keeping an eye out for specific guests and reporting their presence to interested officials once arrived.

"Would you like something to drink?" Spock asked as they mingled. He'd already greeted or been greeted by a number of people. The air was warm and heavy.

"Yes, please." He looked around to locate the nearest bar and took her hand so they would not get separated before joining the line.

"There are more people than I thought," she commented as they waited.

"Indeed. President A Halil will be pleased at the turnout."

"How many of them do you know?"

"Personally? Perhaps fifty. It would depend on who was invited and who was able to attend. Many more if you include those of whom I have only heard."

Janeen laughed lightly. "And how many of them have heard about you?"

"I can not begin to estimate,' he said truthfully. From his right a general commotion was heading in their direction as if carried on a wave. Spock glanced over her head to discern the cause and straightened his back tightly, serious and professional.

The crowd parted like the proverbial sea as one man made his way through, his sights set on one goal, an entourage in tow. The man was tall, as tall as Spock. His skin was dark, tanned by heritage, not sun. He had a full head of silvery hair that he wore long enough to touch the nape of his neck. He was clean shaven. Arabic robes of light colors but heavily embroidered swirled around his legs as he strode purposefully, directly to Spock. His face broke into a broad smile, his teeth brilliant white against his dark skin. His brown eyes danced in delight. President Joachim Faraz A Halil had been a happy man earlier. He was ecstatic now.

Spock bowed deeply as the President stopped directly in front of him. "Mr. President."

"Mr. Ambassador, I'm glad to see you decided not to ignore me this year."

"This is the first year in ten that you have issued a direct invitation."

A Halil cocked his head in thought. "And here I thought any invitation from my office was a direct request. Silly me." He returned the bow that Spock had offered a minute ago. "You have been too long from these events, Spock."

"You keep me quite busy, Sir."

"Liar, but I'll let you get away with it tonight," he said, holding up a warning finger. "Only tonight though."

"Of course, Mr. President."

A Halil made a small groaning noise. "Spock, how many times do I have to ask you to use my name at social events?"

"At least once more," Spock replied instantly. The President had insisted that Spock had the privilege to call him by his given name, yet Spock remained steadfast in using the formal address.

A Halil laughed pleasantly. "You never give in do you, Spock?"

"Very rarely, Sir." Remembering, Spock pulled Janeen forward slightly to bring her to A Halil's attention. "Mr. President, this is Janeen Simmons."

A Halil took Janeen's hand and bent over it to place a kiss on the back of it. "I am enchanted, Madam," he said.

Spock was placing their drink orders. "Thank you, Mr. President. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You've never attended a Ball before?"

"This is my first."

"I'll admit there's much I don't know, but I thought I knew everyone in the Corps."

"Janeen is not a diplomat, Mr. President," Spock elucidated, handing a sparkling water to Janeen.

"No?" he asked with surprise. "I can't imagine how we could not include such a lovely distraction in tedious negotiating."

"She is on the staff at the Pax Academy."

This was a surprise. A Halil's forehead crinkled in a frown. "There are no Vulcans at the Pax."

"Correct. Ours was a chance meeting."

He scrutinized his ambassador keenly. A Halil was not a stupid man or he would not have held the position he did for as long as he had. Leave it to Spock, he decided, to find the most elegant woman in the world to bring to the Ball. Aside from his own wife, that is.

"Your wife is attending?" Spock asked as if reading the President's mind.

"No, Akim is ill and she stayed at the hotel with him."

"I would hope it is not serious?"

"Bad cold. He's not used to this cooler, damp weather."

"Please give them both my regards."

"I shall."

"You must be pleased at the turnout this year."

"I am pleased mostly to see you here. You do not attend Council meetings enough, Spock."

"As I am not a member, there is no reason for my presence."

"That could change."

Both of Spock's eyebrows shot up. "Am I in consideration for a seat?"

"Not yet."

"You know it is not my goal to become a member of the Council."

"Your voice would be invaluable if you were."

Spock shook his head. "I am content to remain as I am, Mr. President, an ambassador in your service."

A Halil laughed again. "No one would ever refuse an invitation to become a Council member more elegantly and without insult than you, Spock." A Halil stepped closer so that his next words were not broadcast to everyone who was watching. "You are not your father, my friend. Do not let him influence you, should the offer ever be made."

"I shall remember that, Mr. President."

"So, your first Ball, Miss Simmons. What do you think so far of our little party?"

"It is not little, Mr. President," she corrected, "and it's breathtaking," she finished.

"Thank you, Madam. I hope it lives up to your expectations."

"It already has, Sir."

"Spock, I would like to meet with you next week, discuss that affair on Omega Twenty. We could lunch at the Marquessa."

Spock quickly ran the details of what he knew about Omega Twenty through his head before nodding in agreement. "I shall have my secretary call your office to set up the appointment. However, I would prefer the Crème Brullee. The Marquessa does not have a vegetarian menu."

"I forgot. Of course. No problem." He took Janeen's hand again to bow over. "Miss Simmons, enjoy your evening. Spock."

Spock watched the man stroll away to stop and chat with another, making the guest feel as though he were visiting the man with the highest position in the Federation in the President's own home. Janeen let out a puff of air.

"Is he always that way?"

"Yes. That is his appeal. That is why he has remained President for so long."

They mingled more, waiting for the call for dinner. She was surprised once again when they found that their seats were the closest to the dais upon which were the places for the extremely high officials. She fingered her necklace absently, standing by her chair, waiting while Spock conducted a brief conversation with a fellow diplomat. She watched him, half listening as he fell into his full diplomatic role, his voice authoritative and precise. It became clear to Janeen that of the two men, Spock was the superior, the other acceding to the Vulcan's suggestions. She could understand why Spock was held in such high regard.

She felt a touch on her arm. Spock was looking at her curiously, one hand on her, the other on the chair he had pulled out for her. A delicate lift of an eyebrow asked if she was all right.

The necklace fell back against her skin. "I'm sorry, I was daydreaming." She seated herself and he took the seat next to her to her right, only to rise an instant later as McFey and his wife approached. The Commander was in full dress whites, medals pinned to his breast, the emblem of the Diplomatic Corps on his sleeve. Carolyn had on a green sheath that hugged her still perfect figure with subtle sexiness.

McFey grinned. He could see now what had been troubling his friend and superior seated next to him. Now he understood the source of the affliction the ambassador was suffering. The girl was exquisite. Far more than even McFey could have imagined. And he knew, from knowing the ambassador, that she had more than caught the Vulcan's eye. He would not have brought her otherwise. McFey could not wait to find out more about her.

"_Khru rom_, Spock," David greeted formally.

"_Khru rom_, David."

Carolyn had no such reserve, stepping up to the Vulcan and putting her hands on his shoulders to pull him down to her. She placed a kiss on his cheek. She then followed it with a gentle swat to one of those shoulders.

"It's been too long," she scolded, "and I know you haven't been that busy that you couldn't visit."

Spock attempted to look appropriately chastised. "Forgive my negligence. I shall endeavor to be more attentive in the future."

"Mandy misses you."

"Please extend my apologies to her and tell her I shall contact her soon."

The woman huffed. "If I tell her that, you'd better follow through."

"You have my word," he promised. Carolyn looked at him skeptically, her lips thinning just long enough to for him to realize that while she was serious about his absence from their home, she wasn't above teasing him as she smiled.

McFey's laugh drew his attention. "I did warn you."

"Indeed, Commander. However, your wife's admonishment is well deserved."

"Remember that." He held out his hand. "It's good to see that you _did _make it tonight."

Spock's eyebrow rose but he took the hand anyway. "I do recall telling you not four hours and forty two minutes ago that I would be attending."

"One never knows with you. Could have had an emergency pop up and off you go."

Spock shook his head. "Tonight I have other commitments."

McFey's glance fell to the young woman sitting by, watching the exchange in silence and curiosity. "Yes, I can see."

Spock moved so that Janeen would be included in the small circle. "Cmdr. David McFey and Mrs. Carolyn McFey, may I introduce Miss Janeen Simmons? Cmdr McFey is presently my Chief of Staff."

"Presently?" McFey asked surprised.

Spock squared his shoulders. "Insubordination is grounds for dismissal."

"You'd never find anybody to take my place _willingly_," he challenged.

"That is why drafts were created," Spock retorted smugly.

Carolyn playfully punched her husband's arm. "Oh, stop it you two," she said, exasperated. "Honestly, you're worse than two little boys." Spock looked at McFey, lifting an accusatory eyebrow. David chuckled, rubbing at his arm as his wife pulled out the chair to Janeen's left and seated herself. She held her hand out to Janeen. "Hi. I'm Carolyn. I'm so pleased to meet you."

Janeen hadn't been quite sure how to take the conversation until Carolyn had stepped in, grinning. Obviously, Spock and Cmdr. McFey had a comfortable relationship.

Carolyn fit right in, having known Spock for many years. But, Janeen wondered, who was this Mandy that he had promised to contact?

It didn't take long for her to discover that Mandy was the McFey's daughter. She and Spock had a special relationship, as close as favorite uncle to niece and the child was the only person, other than Mcfey himself, that Spock permitted to touch his computer when she came into the office with her mother or father. Janeen's tensions eased and as women are wont to do, fell into an easy conversation with the gregarious Carolyn.

David let it go as he took his seat on his wife's left. He knew she would ferret out a lot more information from the young woman than he could or that Spock would ever volunteer. By the end of the night, Carolyn would know nearly everything there was to know about Janeen Simmons.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," A Halil called from the podium next to his dinner seat, "may I have your attention please?"

Dinner had been a pleasant enough affair. Their tablemates had been engaging, the food superior and the conversation had never dragged awkwardly. Dessert had been served and eaten. Waiters cleaned the tables as guests lingered over their after dinner drink of choice, waiting for the invitation to the dancing portion of the evening.

As the President waited for the crowd to quiet, a cadet crossed the stage with a square, hand sized box in his grip. Standing before the President in smart attention, he presented the item. A Halil took the box and opened it, perusing the contents for a second before thanking the cadet. To A Halil's right an admiral made a comment causing the President to lean closer to hear over the chatter of the crowd. The President laughed as he straightened, placing the box on the podium. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he asked again, this time garnering attention, silence returning.

"For those of you who do not know me, I am Joachim A Halil, President of the Federation. I'd like to welcome all of you to the 180th Annual Federation Ball and hope you've been having a pleasant evening so far." He waited for the mild applause that rose.

"We occasionally take some time during these festivities to make special presentations, awards, or recognitions of individual achievement or service. These persons have demonstrated during the previous year or years outstanding performance in their lives and careers.

"This year, one name was submitted to the Federation Council for consideration of the Five Star Cluster Award. The Five Star, representative of the five founding planets of the Federation, is our highest award. It is not given lightly, and in the history of the Federation, only nine have been awarded. By unanimous vote of the Council, tonight we award our tenth.

"Our recipient has had a long and illustrious career. Entering Starfleet Academy at the age of eighteen, he was the first of his race to graduate from the Academy and with the Academy's highest honors. Cadets today still strive to match some of those achievements. On starship assignment, his scientific pursuits lead to discoveries that changed many previously held theories and set new courses in the scientific community. As an officer, he displayed the finest qualities as befitting his position. He has willingly and unhesitatingly put his concern for his ship and shipmates behind that of his own safety, making the supreme sacrifice of giving his own life to save his ship and her crew. We are deeply and eternally grateful that he was returned to us."

Spock, who had been listening with half of his attention, his mind on other matters, sat up straighter, catching McFey's brief nod of confirmation before devoting his full attention to the podium.

A Halil continued. "As an ambassador, he has negotiated numerous treaties, averted wars and saved countless lives. He has set standards that crews and diplomats will try very hard to reach for many years to come. He has dedicated over one hundred, twenty five years to the Federation and I personally hope that he is willing to give us many more." A Halil looked pointedly at Spock as waves of pleasure radiated from him. "Would you join me please, Ambassador?" he asked.

Placing his napkin on the table, glancing quickly at the three people he knew best, Spock rose. His back was stiff as he walked around their table and to the end of the dais. The round of applause from the guests who'd risen to their feet as he made his way to the President was loud and appreciative.

A Halil picked up the box he had been given and opened it again, plucking out the item inside. The Five Star Cluster Award was a pin half the size of a man's hand, a circle of four gold stars surrounding the fifth, the points where they touched highlighted with a brilliant diamond. Holding the award in his hand, A Halil faced his ambassador, who stood at ramrod attention next to the tall Arab.

Spock held his breath as the pin was attached to his shirt next to the IDIC, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast with unaccustomed pride.

A Halil's hand rose in the traditional salute, the _ta'al_. "_Dif-tor heh smusma_, Ambassador Spock."

Spock returned the action. "_Sochya eh dif_, Mr. President. And thank you." His hand fell. "This was most unexpected."

"Even more embarrassing if you had not come tonight. Congratulations."

Spock's trip back to the table was longer as people he passed had to stop him to congratulate him. The award gleamed brightly on his chest, the diamonds reflecting spots of rainbow light as he moved and breathed. As he approached his seat, guests began to gather their things since the President now invited them to enter the dancing hall. His tablemates remained on their feet, greeting Spock as he went back to his chair.

Janeen felt a stab of jealousy at Carolyn's exuberant embrace and peck on Spock's cheek in congratulations. She desperately wanted to throw her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug, but was afraid that such a display would embarrass him, despite Carolyn's actions. Spock accepted David's handshake before taking his seat.

He looked at Janeen, who'd been pointedly refraining from commenting. Her head had been lowered, but as he faced her, it rose and he could see tears in the corners of her eyes. His own head tilted in concern. "Janeen?" he questioned softly.

Janeen tentatively reached out with one finger to touch the pin. "I'm so proud of you."

He gleaned the moisture at the corner of one eye with the back of one finger. The feelings of love and warmth emanating from her were a comfort enveloping him. "I am pleased you were here to share it with me." He allowed his full hand to cup her cheek and she leaned into the caress.

"Would it be untoward if I gave you a kiss of congratulations?" she asked softly.

With the edges of his lips quirked up slightly, he shook his head. "No."

As she lightly touched her lips to his, a hand laid on his jaw, McFey glanced to his wife, astonishment written in his expression. With a smile, Carolyn nodded to him once in affirmation, her woman's heart recognizing the feelings that the couple was trying to control.

A flash of light broke Spock and Janeen apart to find a reporter smiling at them with appreciation. He made as though to tip his hat and danced off through the crowd.

With a frightened look, Janeen faced the ambassador. He wore a definite expression of aversion. "I'm sorry," she whispered in apology.

"It is of no matter. Do not concern yourself. I will handle it."

"How?"

"I will handle it," he repeated, rising. "Have you finished?"

"Yes."

His hand was held out in offering. "Would you care to dance?"

David caught up with the Vulcan later on in the night. Spock was standing alone, watching as Janeen spoke with Minister Tsbrinni from the planet Shi ni tim. They had danced several times together, then she'd been claimed by A Halil for a dance. Carolyn had gone in search of a glass of anything cool to refresh herself in the hot room, leaving her husband to his own pursuits. The crowd was thinning as people made their way out after the evening's festivities.

David placed a hand on the Vulcan's shoulder as he stopped at his side. Spock allowed such touches from the officer, they worked together quite closely at times and Spock had learned to hold his shields at a comfortable level with the human. He considered him more than a very close friend. "Been a nice evening," David murmured.

"It has been enjoyable."

"Congratulations again on that award."

Spock turned a discerning eye his way. "Were you aware I was receiving it?"

David nodded. "Yeah. A Halil contacted me this morning and said he didn't care how I did it, just make sure you were here tonight." He shrugged. "Turns out I didn't have to do a thing." He nodded towards Janeen. "How long have you known her?"

"Three solar months."

"She's very lovely."

"Indeed."

"I saw she was dancing with the ambassador from Rintha Ten."

"I believe he did ask for a dance with her, yes."

"And you let her?" David responded with amazement.

"Is there a problem?" Spock replied in concern.

"You have a firm relationship I suppose."

"If you are inquiring if we are bonded, the answer is no."

"Then you're an idiot, and I've never known you to do idiotic things."

Now an eyebrow lifted in undisguised shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"The girl loves you. The million credit question is, do you love her?"

Spock's shoulders rose with a deep breath. He'd never admitted this out loud, not even to himself. And while he first believed this was none of David's business, on second thought, he decided that not only was David entitled to put in his opinion, and receive an answer, but Spock relied on David the times when he appeared obtuse to the subtleties of humans. "Yes."

"Have you told her?"

"Not in so many words."

"Then let me give you a piece of advice. _Tell her_," he said emphatically. "And do it often. She's a human woman, they need to hear it. Anything you do for them means nothing compared to actually saying the words 'I love you.'"

David shoved his hands in his pockets. "Then get her to the altar, and quick, before you lose her."

"Are you implying that she would dissolve our relationship?"

"If you keep beating around the bush, yeah. You know how the Rinthians are. They see something they want, they go after it. If Iruk decides he wants her, he'll go after her, as long as she's free."

Spock conceded McFey's point. The Rinthians were notorious for appropriating things they felt were of great beauty or value, at any costs in some situations. It did, on occasion, create a diplomatic nightmare.

And Janeen would be considered quite a prize.

"What does Carolyn say?" Spock had David when it came to male emotions, and looked to Carolyn for a female's point of view, if she were apprised of the situation. He had not missed the looks David and his wife had exchanged throughout the evening.

"She just wants an invitation to the wedding."

Spock couldn't have looked any more floored than if McFey had actually decked him. A decision with which he had been struggling suddenly became clear, no answers left unanswered, no doubts left hanging. He straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. "Please inform Carolyn that she will be the first name on my list," he murmured to David and strode off in the direction of Janeen. David's jaw dropped, then clicked shut as a grin spread across his lips.

Spock waited as Janeen finished her conversation with Tsbrinni. He bowed to the Shi ni tim. "Minister."

Tsbrinni pointed with one of his four fingers to the award. "Is honor," he whispered, the fingers of his other hand moving. "Great pride you."

Spock glanced down at Janeen. "You speak Shi ni tim?"

"After a fashion, yes."

"Please tell the minister that I am honored by the award, though it was unexpected."

"Honor good, not all pride," Janeen replied for Spock, her hands moving in grace. The minister looked at the Vulcan then the woman and bowed. "Say your good nights. It is time to go."

"All right." She turned back to the minister and spoke with him for a moment before swinging back to Spock. "We're through." Spock took her elbow and steered her in the direction of the coat room.

"Can we walk?" Janeen asked as he waited for their outer wear. "It's a nice night, unless it's too cold for you."

"It is not too cold." He signed the chit for their coats. Holding Janeen's coat for her, she slipped her hands into it and shrugged it on. He pulled on his own coat, glancing around as he did so. A cadet to his right caught his eye and he waved the young man over.

"Yes, Ambassador?"

"Please have my landcar brought around," he asked.

The cadet bowed. "Yes, Sir," he replied. He headed towards a doorway to the left, going through the door. Spock directed her to the entrance doors.

"I had not known you were so versed in Shi ni tim."

"I did say after a fashion. It's not hard if you practice."

"Was it an interest of yours?"

"We had a Shi ni tim student about three years ago. I find if a teacher has even a passing vocabulary and background, it helps the student to settled in quicker."

"The books in your classroom," he assumed, remembering the shelves.

"Yes. I try to learn at least one story from the home planets of each of my students." She smiled in remembrance of the evening. "I liked the minister. He was delightful."

"I have never known a Shi ni tim to speak so informally to someone whom they have just met."

She laughed softly. "He was telling me about the time when a Ferengi brought flame orchids to their planet."

"Indeed?" Flame orchids were notorious for causing havoc in the endocrine systems of certain species, one of them being the Shi ni tim. It was probably quite embarrassing for the sedate and dignified race, and only a Shi ni tim could relate the story with gracious humor. "You are fortunate. The Shi ni tim rarely mention that incident."

The car arrived. Spock opened the door for her first then followed her out as the driver exited the vehicle. He opened the door to the back for the ambassador and his guest.

"We will not be needing the car," Spock told him. "If you will give me the chit?"

"Yes, Sir." He spun to reach into the vehicle to pull out a padd. Passing it to Spock, the Vulcan signed it and gave it back.

"Thank you for your service," Spock dismissed. Offering his arm to her after the driver had departed, they began to walk in the direction of her apartment.

The night was cool, the sky star filled and clean after an afternoon rain that had washed the city. The streets were clear after they left the grounds of the Academy, the time late even for a night when many people might have been out instead.

"I had a wonderful time," she said.

"It was a pleasant evening."

"I was thrilled that they gave you the Five Star. You've done so much for the Federation."

"It was not done for the recognition."

"I know. But it was still nice for them to honor you."

They walked in silence for a moment. "I find I must offer you an apology."

Shocked, she faced him. "Why?"

"I neglected to tell you how beautiful you look tonight. Your dress is most becoming."

Janeen felt her skin flush in the cool air. "Thank you, but I do believe that I had the most handsome escort."

"You are most flattering."

She stopped, grinning mischievously, waiting for him to realize and turn back to her, an eyebrow rising in query. "How far will flattery get me, Mr. Ambassador?"

He cocked his head to the side, contemplating her question for a moment before a very unVulcan devilish glint entered his eyes. "How far would you wish to go, Madam?"

Her eyes widened in surprise and she turned away slightly, caught in her own game.

Spock gave her a moment, a smile hinting at his lips. She was a delight, an uplift to his life, an unexpected joy that he knew he needed. She had become an addiction for which he wanted no cure and he was going to take the step he'd been reflecting on for days now.

Reaching out, he touched her arm gently. "Come, let us continue," he invited gently as he took a half step forward. She joined him.

"I'm sorry," she said a moment later.

"For what?"

"For teasing you a minute ago."

"Will I be required to apologize for my response?" he asked primly.

"No, oh no," she answered quickly, then stopped with an intake of breath. She glanced up at him in realization. "You're teasing me," she accused.

"Of course," he agreed. "I am not above being teased, or teasing. With all of the time I spend around humans, it has become a necessary talent. I have learned that teasing is a fine art in which I endeavor to improve."

"Seems David would make a good teacher."

"He does have a predilection towards 'pulling my leg,' as you might say."

She laughed. "He's a good friend. I enjoyed meeting both of them, though I do have to admit to a bit of jealousy when Mandy was first mentioned."

"She has always been special to me from the day of her birth."

"Maybe I'm still jealous," she amended.

"She is but a child, Janeen."

"It sounds like she's becoming a young woman, Spock. Don't dismiss her because of her age."

"I do not. She is a bright, inquisitive child. I enjoy spending time with her." He looked down to Janeen. "As I enjoy spending time with you," he murmured softly, "though in a different way."

"How different?"

"We are both adults, Janeen, and free to do as we please."

She stopped walking. "What do you desire, Spock?"

He continued a few paces beyond her then stopped as well, turning to face her, moving closer. He scrutinized her, looking her up and down before reaching out to finger a lock of her hair. "I find your hair fascinating - its texture, its shine, the way it smells. I have never known any woman with hair like yours." He let the strands slide through his fingers. "There is a word in Vulcan, a very old word, ancient from the time before Surak, _suvel nahan fa'Surak_. It is rarely used. The translation into Terran is not precise, but it closely means true life. The word is _c'thanae_. C'thanae is what you have become to me."

She played with one of the fastenings on his cloak. "I had begun to wonder."

"We have not known each other for very long, but I am sure of what I feel for you. You have asked me what I desire, Janeen. The answer is you."

He linked her arm through his again and they resumed walking. She could feel his hand was chilled, the night must have been getting to him. The walk would help to warm him.

He wanted her. The thought of it thrilled her and scared her as well. She was but a teacher, could she ever fit into his world? He was so well-known, so in demand. Especially with the women. She'd seen the looks tossed his way - those come hither glances, the coy sideways invitations, the blatant out and out offers. She'd also seen the haughty looks sent in her direction, the ones meant to put her in her place, to show that she was insignificant or with open hostility that she dared to be with the ambassador. At first those looks meant for her had bothered her, but as she felt more comfortable with him, she'd felt more comfortable with herself and ignored those looks. She had every right to be with him, as much as any woman.

And if this feeling of completeness were any indication, she actually had more right than any of those women. He was the other part of her and she intended to hold on for dear life.

They walked in peace. The street was quiet, empty of people, lights off in the buildings on either side of the street.

"There is much for you to learn," he spoke up, breaking the silence, "much that I can show you as my wife. And I know you can teach me to be a better husband this time."

Her breath hitched. "This time?" she asked with surprise.

"I have been married before, a lifetime ago it seems."

"What happened?"

He glanced up to the sky. "We married for the wrong reasons. The union did not last through the first year and we divorced amicably. We both had our careers and went in different directions."

"I have a career," she reminded him.

Spock acknowledged her statement with a nod. "And if we can not find a comfortable medium in which to meld our careers, I find I am at a point in my life where I can retire from the Diplomatic Corps. Admiral Keldar has been asking me at consistent intervals to return to the Academy to teach."

"You would do that for me?"

"Your goals are as important to me as my own. It is unthinkable that I would require you to abandon your pursuits."

Janeen gave it a moment. "I appreciate the offer. But if you remember, after the concert, I did mention that I would prefer a chance to freely teach." She huddled a little closer, the cold penetrating. "I am sorry about your marriage."

"Do not be. Were Saavik and I still engaged, there would not be a place for you. You are the other half of my soul, Janeen. I want to take you to the stars you have missed." He drew a deep breath of cool air, the cold filling his chest, revitalizing. "Cmdr. McFey gave me a piece of advice this evening, to marry you before someone takes you away from me."

He stopped again, facing her again, taking her head in his hands, his fingers caressing her cheeks. "C'thanae, of all of the worlds I have seen, all of the peoples I have known, I have come to this place and time wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you as your friend, your lover and your husband. On my planet, we say, '_taluhk nash-veh k'dular_. I cherish you, I love you. If you will give me a chance, I will say it, and show it to you often. Janeen, C'thanae, will you grant me whatever time we have left to be together? Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

She sighed softly. "You should be a poet." She traced cool fingers along his lips. "I can't think of anything I'd rather be than your wife. And the honor is all mine."

The kiss they shared to seal their lives was full of promise, full of want and desire, full of satisfaction. A lover's kiss, watched and attested to by the night sky and the stars.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: _**A question has arisen about the logic behind my chaptering of this story. Let me explain briefly. As Spock is struggling with dealing with his present, he is remembering the most important parts of his past with his wife, now deceased. There is precedence for this kind of chaptering, look to Sarek**__**, by A. C. Crispin, in which Sarek is reading Amanda's journal, after she has passed away. I considered using this method, then discarded it. **_

_**Please, stick with the story. There is a method to my madness and it all falls together quite nicely. Rmimzadi**_

David was soundly sleeping, St'van resting quietly, when Spock was permitted to join them. He wore clothing given to him, a pair of dark trousers, dark shirt and soft, supple shoes.

St'van rose quickly as Spock entered. The older man looked around the room briefly. There were two beds, a table and two chairs, the room sparse as only a room could be on Vulcan.

"My Lord, are you well?"

"As well as can be expected. Yourself?"

"We have been treated with respect, Lord."

Spock looked beyond St'van to the prone figure still on the bed. "David?"

"He is exhausted, sleeping deeply." Spock moved to David's bedside. "My Lord, I am confused. Why are we not known here? The ship is blockaded, no messages are allowed and there appear to be no transmissions beyond Vulcan."

Perching on the edge of David's bed, Spock laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "David," he called. He squeezed harder. "David."

The sleeping man woke with a start, jerking bodily, blinking rapidly as he looked around. Upon seeing Spock, he rose to an elbow. "Spock! Are you all right?"

Spock shook his head once. "I shall never be 'all right' again. We have work to do and I need you." Spock rose, moving aside.

"Work? What work?" David sat up, dropping his feet to the floor.

"I have a theory about what has happened to us."

"Where Vulcans don't know you and humans in space take them totally by surprise? That theory?"

"I believe we have passed into an alternate universe. Here, humans have not developed interplanetary space flight, Zephram Cochrane did not break the warp speed barrier. There is no United Federation of Planets.

"How are we here? Why didn't we vanish, too?"

"We passed through a doorway between our two universes. If we can find that doorway and open it…"

"Then we can go home," David finished.

"Affirmative."

"But Janeen…"

"Will still be dead. Our marriage bond was broken prior to our trip."

David looked thoughtful a moment, his stare off to some unknown place. Spock could imagine what he was thinking.

They'd taken some big chances over the years, seen extraordinary places, had extraordinary adventures, but none, it seemed as extraordinary as this.

An alternate universe, where everything - and nothing - was the same. No Federation, no Starfleet. He wondered what Earth was like, how far it had progressed, if at all. Where were they, the people of Earth, evolutionarily, technologically?

Could they get back, go home? Home to their Earth, their lives, his Carolyn, his children? If not, then what?

David felt as though someone had punched him in the chest. He turned horrified eyes to Spock. "If we can't get back, then what?" he whispered with anguish.

Spock nodded once again. "We must remain here, in this reality."

"Carolyn?"

"Is lost, David. If she has been born in this reality, she is not your Carolyn. If we can not return to our reality, we must learn to exist, here, isolated from the rest of the galaxy so that we do not affect this reality." He maintained a calm and steady voice. He had to, to do anything else would have meant he would have given in to the emotions roiling inside. He was already on the verge of flying apart.

"What if Janeen exists in this reality?"

"She is not my Janeen. She will not have the same memories. I do not want a woman who is not the woman I married."

"That's all well and good for you," David ground out. "But I want my wife and children back."

"What would you have me do, David? Wave a magic wand? I can not give you your wife and children. I can not have my own wife returned to me. She is dead, to me, to eternity. I have no alternative in that. If we are all to be citizens of this reality, we must do it logically and logic dictates that we do not interfere with these people and the natural course of their progress."

David pointed skyward. "And what about the two hundred and twenty people up there? How do you explain to them that they have to forsake their families, their lives?"

"In the same manner I have done for you."

"That's not good enough!" he replied angrily.

Spock felt his own ire rising as well. "It must be, David, there is no choice!" He spun away, his sadness palpable. Even were they successful in returning home, he would never have his Janeen again.

David closed his eyes, holding the tears at bay. He would give the rest of his life to find that way, get through that doorway, to go home to be with his family, no matter how much it would hurt the Vulcan. He was devastated at Janeen's loss, but to lose his beloved Carolyn, his son, his daughter…it was unbearable to even consider.

But at least, he forced himself to remember, if they returned, no - when they returned - he would have Carolyn, Joshua, and Amanda waiting for him. Spock now had no one.

David took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

Spock unclenched his hands. "Forgive me," he responded. "I understand what you are experiencing, more than you realize. I, too, need to return home, if for no other reason then to find out how Janeen died, to bury her, and mourn. I can not give in to the hurt and anger I am feeling, I would fall apart otherwise. I must control, _I must_, until we are home."

He laid a hand on David's shoulder, his voice softened. "You saved my life, for a reason it would now appear. I need you to help me, I need you with me, now and when we return home." His head shook back and forth, his eyes clouded momentarily. "It will not be easy, to bury my c'thanae. Please, David."

David took another deep breath. "So, what do we do?"

Spock's hand dropped. "Solare, head of the High Council, is requesting that we be given a tricorder with the record of our trip. We will review the records."

Some of the fright left David's eyes just as his stomach rumbled loudly. "Maybe something to eat before we get started?" he suggested.

"St'van, are we permitted food?"

The younger Vulcan, who had been listening intently and with growing apprehension, blinked once to stare at Spock. "My Lord?"

"Food, St'van. We need nutrition."


	9. Chapter 9

**WARNING - SEXUAL CONTENT**

* * *

Spock opened the door and invited Janeen into the last room of his apartment. The offer was a big move on the part of the Vulcan, an invitation not only into his home, but his life. This was his bedroom, his sanctuary, where he could keep the deepest part of himself away from prying eyes.

She had been in his apartment several times now, meeting him prior to going out, having a quiet dinner, hostessing for a cocktail party. She had been allowed to explore all in the apartment, even his office, but had never come into the bedroom. It was too tempting and they still hadn't given in to the temptation. The pull was growing stronger with each passing day and she didn't know how she was going to hold out much longer. She had no idea that he was fighting the same pull of attraction, and barely winning.

"You're sure?"

He nodded once. "It will be yours as well in two weeks."

She pushed the door open fully and stepped in, he close on her heels, watching with mild amusement.

The room was large, eighteen by twenty feet if an inch. The bed was the first piece of furniture that greeted the visitor, wedged between two picture windows. With the drapes opened, the light from outside spilled into the room, muted through the sheer curtains, but bright enough to lighten the room without artificial illumination.

Here the colors, still understated, were more bold than in the rest of the apartment. The quilt on the bed was red, the wood of the furniture dark chocolate brown. The material of the chair to the left was wine colored, the chaise on the right was patterned in greens and tans. Everything meshed in color, a statement to his tastes and desire for harmony.

She was surprised by the presence of the chairs. While his living room was plush, designed with the comfort of possible visitors in mind, that he had carried the comfort to his own room told her that he liked his comfort just as much. The bolsters on the bed were softened by the throw pillows piled there. She could tell the quilt was thick. Of course, he most likely tossed the quilt off at night, since he kept the room temperature high out of consideration for his Vulcan metabolism. She was going to need time to get used to it herself.

There were but two weeks left before she became his wife. Two more weeks to contend with the butterflies that were growing on a daily basis. What had started as a barely there impression had swelled to minor proportions and threatened to bubble into the major leagues the closer they got to their wedding day.

She loved him dearly, but he frightened her. Not the physical man himself, but his reputation was so far out there that she still sometimes found it difficult to believe she could live up to it as his wife. He was larger than life, she a mere school teacher. How could she hope to measure up? Cocktail parties and dinner dates aside, she still did not know the full extent of his life. She had yet to go to Vulcan.

He touched her elbow gently, cupping her arm with a slight pressure. "Do not fear," he murmured, "you are, as you humans say, just what the doctor ordered."

She turned to face him, relief evident under the surprise. "I wish you would warn me before you do that."

"Then you must learn to better control your emotions. I can feel you quite easily, much more so the closer we approach our wedding."

She continued to peruse his room, stopping to stare at the medals and awards framed and hanging on the wall above the chair. "I don't know how you can be so calm."

"Why should I not be?"

"One doesn't get married every day, at least not the way we are."

"Explain." His voice said he was baffled.

She moved to the window to pull back the curtain. Peering out, she admired the view of the Golden Gate Bridge, unobstructed by buildings. A shuttlecraft arced gracefully over the bridge then turned before lowering to land at the spaceport. "The Vulcan High Council, President of the Federation, Commander in Chief of Starfleet, and other assorted dignitaries who'll be in attendance. That's enough to make a girl think about thinking twice."

Little did she know. His family was one of the ruling classes on Vulcan and traced its roots back to Surak, the father of Vulcan's modern philosophy. Spock was a member of Vulcan hierarchy, a lord among his people. She was going to be, as they said, jumping into the deep end and did not yet know it. "You are changing your mind?"

"I didn't say that." The curtain fell back into place as she moved away. She resisted the urge to run her fingers along the quilt as she walked around the bed, avoiding looking at it as well. He didn't know yet, she hadn't found the way to tell him that she was still a virgin. He'd find out soon enough. She only hoped that he wouldn't be disappointed.

There was a medium sized statue against the wall she faced. It looked oriental, but the figure was of no myth she had ever heard about. In one outstretched hand, the creature held a bowl, the cup full of ash. This was from where the exotic patchouli-like scent of the room must have come. The one in his office was larger, but of the same archetype, surreal yet familiar, as though having stepped from a fantasy.

Above the statue and the bookcase in front of the chaise, hanging on the wall, three pictures took up the remaining space. She leaned in to scrutinize the center piece, and original oil. Its colors were slashed across the canvas, the figures hidden in the strokes. "Isn't this a Burroway?"

"It is called 'Man's Expulsion From Paradise.'"

"It's extraordinary. And these two?" She pointed to the paintings that edged the oil. "This is Vulcan."

"It is." He indicated to one on the right. "These were painted from my father's villa. The desert is awe inspiring at sunset. The lights in the back are Shi Kahr city. The mountains in the other one are the backdrop to the villa."

"It's beautiful," she complimented. And very revealing. She knew he'd left Vulcan after a major argument with his father in which the elder had not approved of the younger's choice in career. Spock had never felt as though he fit in among his Vulcan peers, neither Vulcan nor human, an outcast, at times, even within his own family. And Vulcan had been very pointed in allowing that he had exceeded all of their expectations despite the disadvantage of his human mother. He had had no choice but to leave Vulcan to find not only himself, but peace. It was ironic that the path he chose, his self expulsion, led him right to her and her happiness.

"They are very old. My father had them painted when he and my mother first married."

She nodded as she swung to her right. On the wall with the door was the entrance to the bath, the door slightly ajar. Next to it between that door and the one to his room was his dresser, a long piece of furniture made of the same chocolate colored wood as the bed. The top was free of debris, unlike so many other male dressers, only two pictures took a small spot on the left corner. One was of his parents. She recognized the stern face of Sarek and assumed the blonde woman at his side was Spock's mother, Amanda. The young woman was beautiful and though a human on a planet where emotions were eschewed, she was smiling for the camera.

She picked up the other framed portrait, looking at the person depicted there before her glance slid to Spock's face. Her brows knitted together as she returned her gaze to the picture. "Is this you?" The young man was definitely Vulcan, but more a teenager than an adult of any appreciable age, yet he had a distinctive non-Vulcan appearance about him.

He peered over her shoulder. "That is Zar."

"Your brother?" she guessed. He hadn't mentioned a brother.

"My son."

Her breath stopped on a gasp. He had a son, and he had not told her? How could he have been so cruel, to leave out this one vital piece of information? His past was his past, granted, but to deliberately neglect to tell her something of such importance bordered on betrayal. What else had he withheld from her that she would come across that might tear her apart?

He took the picture from her hand and steered her to the chaise where he made her sit, then took a seat next to her. He held one of her hands, their connection strong and flowing. "Listen to me, Janeen. I have had many 'adventures' while on the Enterprise, and I can not erase them. Not would I, for they have made me what I am today. Most of what I tell you is unclassified. Some I can not explain, just accept it for what it is.

"We had received orders to aid in the evacuation of the people of Sarpeidon. Its sun was going to supernova and destroy the planet and its inhabitants. When we arrived, we were surprised to find everyone was gone, all of the millions of people missing. We discovered that the Sarpeidons had developed a way to travel into their own past and would thus survive. Through a series of unfortunate choices however, Dr. McCoy and I found ourselves stranded in its past as well, five thousand years in its past. There was a woman there, Zarabeth, sent back in a form of judicial punishment.

"What we did not realize was that by going back in time, I became what the Vulcan people were in that time - barbaric, emotional, hostile. Zarabeth was lonely and lovely and made no secret that she wanted me to stay with her. I gave in to those passions that being in the past raised in me.

"We were eventually returned to our time and Sarpeidon was destroyed. I never realized that my time with Zarabeth had produced a son. I found a way to return to Sarpeidon's past to retrieve him, thinking he would be but a child. Instead, I found a nearly full grown man, who resented me for leaving his mother. I brought him forward in time and we tried to live as father and son, but soon realized that there were too many differences between us. I also discovered that he was important to Sarpeidon's past. He had a duty to go back to fulfill his destiny.

"Zar returned to the time in which he belonged. He is dead, C'thanae, and has been for over five thousand years. I mourned his loss, the chances that we never had, but do not pine for him. I am at peace over Zar. The picture is but a memory."

She sat silent. When she looked up at him, her eyes were filled with horror. "How could you do it?" she asked. "How could you let him go?"

"It was not easy. He was my son. But he had a destiny that was necessary to the evolution of his people, and I could not live in that time without becoming what Vulcan was then. I could not give myself over to that kind of madness."

Her eyes filled with tears, her breathing becoming harsh as she attempted to deal with the life he had lead. He enfolded her in his embrace, pulling her head against his shoulder as she softly cried.

"Why do you cry?" he asked gently.

She sniffed and sat back, wiping her cheeks. "For all of the things you've had to endure, all that you've given up. For all that you have lost," she replied softly, looking up.

"I have you now. What has come before is over and past. Do not think on it." His lips were more convincing as he kissed her tenderly, then kissed her again. Standing, he reached for her hand. "Come, some tea should calm you."

Her smile was forced but cheerier. "Why is it that everything seems better with a cup of tea?" she asked as she slid her hand into his.

"It is a soothing process, to make tea. Perhaps the time it takes allows for time to calm." His kitchen was warm and comfortable, modern and completely up to date in appliances. But he also had a stove and tea kettle and it was to these that he gave his attention. As she had done the night he had proposed, he concentrated on making tea for them both, giving her cup to her first. They settled on the sofa in the living room.

"I have yet to explain to you the last of the intricacies of the wedding."

"What does that mean?"

"Vulcans mind meld with their spouses. It is called a marriage bond, a telepathic link between them that keeps them aware of each other no matter the distance. We will be able to 'feel' each other. In times of great stress or emotion, we will know this."

"You will read my mind?"

"As I have explained before, only with touch can I read your mind. This is more an awareness, such as you might get when someone comes into a room and you can not see them. Yet, you know they are there.

"The marriage bond will enhance sexual intercourse. When we are joined physically, we will also join mentally. We will both be able to read each other then, since there will be physical contact.

"The setting of the bond will occur during the ceremony. T'Sar will link us and we will share our thoughts and memories. It can quite overwhelming. I am familiar with dealing with mind melds, I have had to use them on occasion in the course of my duties. It is not painful, but can cause a dizzying sensation. It can be at times, most invasive. You may find it difficult to deal with the enormity of the information you will be given."

He toed off his shoes and rested his feet on the coffee table in front of the sofa, placing his cup on the end table. Taking her half filled cup, he set it on the table next to his, relaxed back against the sofa and pulled her against his body. The scent of her shampoo drifted up around him. He was careful to not touch her, skin to skin.

"I do not want you to feel that everything you know and think is mine as well. My position as a diplomat and reserve Starfleet officer demands that there are things you can not be privy to, even as my wife. We will each have a part of our minds reserved for those things. Can you accept this?"

She took a deep breath and let it out as a whoosh. What a question to ask. He would learn her biggest secret on their wedding day. Would he be disappointed?

He had experience. He had had a son, even if that son was long dead. Natural curiosity and proximity to non-human species had lead her to discover the sexual practices of a number of peoples. There had been nothing on Vulcan preferences, though once her engagement had been announced, a lot of rumors were suddenly being whispered within earshot. Some had been intriguing. Some had been frightening. If she decided to wait, in two weeks she was going to find out which were true.

"What are you thinking, C'thanae?" he asked, taking several strands of her hair in hand. He loved her hair and 'played' with it whenever he could, threading his fingers through it, rubbing it through his hands.

"Everything,' she whispered. "I love you so much, yet there is a part of me that is so frightened."

"Explain."

"Like the Ball, this is so new to me. You are so confident, you've experienced so much…"

"I have not experienced marriage such as we will share. My marriage to Saavik was what you call long distanced. She was a Starfleet officer and required to be on her ship. This time, I will be coming home at night, to you. This time, I will return from a mission to you. Each night we are together, and it will be most of them, I will be sleeping next to you."

Her short laugh was ironic. "That's the part with which I am familiar, if only by my parents' example."

"It is the telepathic part that concerns you?"

"I have secrets, too."

"And you may keep them, if that is your wish."

She laughed again. "I don't think you'll want me to keep the biggest one."

His voice was enticing "Tell me then."

Instead she sat forward suddenly, twisting her body to face him. "Can you mind meld without being bonded?"

"If I could not, I would have found myself in the awkward position of being married to my Captain, Chief Medical Officer and Chief Engineer. What is the term you humans use? I do not 'swing that way?'" He finger combed her hair as she laughed at his wry tone. "Be assured, C'thanae, comparatively, a mind meld is a simple thing to a true marriage bond."

Janeen relaxed then rested back against him. "Mind meld with me?"

"You are sure?" He felt her take a deep breath and nod. "Relax then. It will not hurt." He set his own controls, so familiar with them it happened in a second. Placing his hands on her face from behind, he searched for and set the pressures that he needed to link them together. Against her ear she heard him slowly murmur. "My mind to yours, my thoughts to yours. We are together. We are one."

If she had thought that what they shared up to this point was wonderful, what happened now was galaxies beyond that. A world she had never known existed opened up to her and she reveled in it.

"_As you should, C'thanae." _

"_And our bond will be like this?"_

"_More," _he promised_. "More intense, more intimate. It will be unbreakable except through death. We will have many years to share in this."_

"_T'Sar. She will know what we know during the bonding?"_

"_She will serve as a conduit, linking us. There may be some fallout, but she will not intrude." _He sent to her mental images of a Vulcan marriage ceremony, the lands of his ancestors on which it would be held, the attendants necessary for a ceremony involving one of Vulcan's ruling classes and oldest families, the priest or priestess who would establish the marriage bond.

He touched lightly on her memories and shared some of his with her, not the deep images that would flood her mind during the bonding, but swift images to give her a feel for what she was going to experience in two weeks time. He assured her that she would have time to absorb what they exchanged, what he gave her. That is why he had insisted on an extended honeymoon. For Vulcans, used to their telepathy, it was a simple matter of categorizing the data and relegating it to mental boxes to open and explore later. That would not happen to Janeen; she would be hit with it either little by little or in full force, and he wanted make sure she had the time and his availability to render aid.

While he had the link open, he swiftly explored that question that had bothered him from the start, was she a latent telepath? He knew where such abilities would lie and he touched that area, coming away surprised to find she did indeed have some capabilities, though they were very limited compared to him and she had no control over them. He would have to work with her to develop them, teach her how to express them and how to recognize them, for their children were sure to carry the trait.

Before he dissolved the link, he sent her a mental caress and could feel her physical response to it - the indrawn breath, her heart speeding up, her face flushing and the mental sigh she expressed to it.

"_And during sex? Will we…?"_

"_We will. Intensely, intimately, and most privately."_

"_Then you should know," _she sent to him and an image filled his mind.

His eyes flew open and he stared at her in disbelief, his hands falling to the side. How had she managed…? This was the major cause of her distress? And she felt ashamed to speak about it? Frightened by rumor? And intrigued.

Placing his hands on her arms, he pushed her forward enough to slide out from behind her and stood. He offered his hand to her. "We are kindling waiting for a match. It is time to light the fires." Her hand slid into his and he pulled her to a stand, kissing her as he reopened the bond in their minds, stoking the flames.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He pulled her closer against his body, her coolness a balm to the heat he generated, and wrapped his arm tighter around her waist. The sun was beginning to rise and they both had to get moving soon or she would end up showing up at school in the same clothes in which she'd left the day before.

This was her last day at the Pax. With the wedding coming up in thirteen days, they had to pack and make ready to board a transport to go to Vulcan. For there were things tradition demanded be done prior to the ceremony that would take time, at least a week. Most of the hotel arrangements had already been made for the more important of the guests - the President and several other family members. Starfleet personnel of rank would reside on the ships on which they arrived. Janeen's parents and the McFey's would stay with the couple in the mountain villa home. It had been built with entertaining in mind since Sarek was a high ranking ambassador from a prestigious 'royal' Vulcan clan. With all that needed to be done, she had resigned from the Pax, effective at the end of the term. Today. Tomorrow they would leave for Vulcan.

He was content. After discovering that she had been a virgin, he had taken matters into his own hands.

Spock lead her into his bedroom, making her stand in the center where the space was most open. "Wait," he murmured. He moved to the statue and poured incense into the firepot, then lit it with a taper. A musky scent begin to fill the room.

"Close your eyes," he requested as he came to stand in front of her, "listen to my voice, feel with your skin, hear with your ears. Do not talk, do not touch. Reach out with your senses. You are a novice, and I am your teacher." She felt her hair lift as he threaded his fingers through it, once, twice, three times before allowing it to fall across her shoulders.

"You've heard the rumors about Vulcan males. Some of them are true." He took her hand in his and lifted it. The strength with which he gripped her hand was controlled, enough to make a point. "We are stronger. Our gravity pulls on us more than the gravity here does on Earth men. That makes us stronger. You will have to be mindful of me, tell me if I am hurting you, for there are times when I may lose myself and forget." He dropped her hand.

"We make love, like all men, with passion and deliberation, but we are different. Listen to my words." He walked around her so that she had to follow his voice. A breath caressed her ear. "It is called _esh_," he whispered, "breath." Another breath flowed along her throat, warm and silky. "_Esh_."

She started when fingers touched her blouse and worked the buttons through the buttonholes, continuing down the front of her shirt. When the garment was undone, it split open and was pulled from her shoulders, then off her back. Another breath tickled the base of her throat. "_Esh_." The hairs at her nape rose.

Spock held the jewel of the necklace she always seemed to be wearing, blue on a chain of silver the dangled between her breasts. Her skin near the gem had taken on a cool hue, so different from its normal, warm peach tone. The stone was a Boulder Opal, rare and costly and he wondered for a moment who had given it to her if she had not bought it herself. The gem warmed as he felt the smoothness of the pendant. "Where did you get this?"

"It's a family heirloom. My father's ancestors came from Austrailia."

He let the gem fall back against her skin and moved silently across the carpet.

Fingers unhooked her bra, strong, hot, fingers that caressed her skin before sliding the straps from her shoulders and removed the material. His hands glided down her arms, feather light, coming to her own. The bra fell, unheeded. With his hands, he lifted hers and brought them to her chest to lay them under her breasts, forming a cup. He placed her hands so that he made her palm her own breasts, weighing them. "_A'dle'ad_," he said by her right ear. She took a deep breath, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Spock took a finger tip in each hand. With just the tips, he lead her to the hardened points and touched there, pushing in slightly so she could feel how the excitement was causing her to stiffen. She circled her nipples, guided by his hands. "_Thasek-gonaf_," he identified. He spread her fingers wide, laying them full on her breasts. "Feel them, learn their texture."

His fingernails softly ran the length of her left arm as he walked around her body. "What do you feel?"

"My heart is beating like a drum, my skin is warm."

The fastening of her trousers at her left hip sprung open, the zipper made a rasping sound as it was lowered and her pants pooled at her feet. She wore a scrappy piece of lace that barely covered her. "Keep your eyes closed. Kick off your shoes and trousers." She heard the sound of a second zipper open as she flipped her clothes away. She tried to hear him as he walked around her again, but his feet made no noise on the carpet.

Once more, from behind her, his hands took hers and lowered them, caressing her arms on the uptake and her breasts on the downstroke. They continued downwards, circling her stomach then closing over her abdomen. "Feel," he instructed, "learn what makes you want, what sets your heart to beating, your blood rushing, your skin to flush. If you do not know, how can I give it back to you?" For a heartbeat he laid his hands, hot and sure on her skin, over the place that would someday cradle a child, but not today.

He pushed the piece of lace from her hips and down her thighs until it fell the rest of the way on its own. His hands delved into the curls at the top of the junction of her thighs. "Open." Her legs moved apart until he could reach between them.

Yet again, he lifted one of her hands and took lead. Cupping between her legs, she felt the warmth of her femininity. "_Kotik_," he said into her left ear. With a single finger he found her pleasure point. "_Ko-lok_." She sighed heavily, her blood running, her breaths fast. "You are a virgin. Is your hymen still intact?" Two fingers penetrated deep inside, one cool, one hot, until they were stopped by the proof of her virginity. She shivered bodily. "I will be as gentle as possible, but there is always pain when the hymen is broken. Only once, sharp and quick." The fingers retreated then were pushed back in, moisture and heat surrounding them. "_Keshtan-ur_."

She groaned out loud, laying back against him, only touching his shoulders. He was deliberately holding himself away from her.

Spock moved again. His eyes widened at the sight of her. She was faultless. Her skin was flushed peach, unblemished and glowing. Her lashes were long and rested delicately on her cheeks, her lips had darkened and swollen. Strands of hair covered the tips of her breasts, the right nipple peeking through. The most erotic sight was her hand, positioned at the juncture of her thighs, one finger buried in the curls and hidden within her body.

Directing that hand and the finger she still held buried inside, he pulled it to himself. Glistening with her moisture, he laid her hand around his manhood. "_Lok_," he said leaning in towards her. "Is it what they told you?"

She encircled him, his heat and hard steeled length, the velvet covering and measured by touch. Her lips parted slightly, all the answer he needed. "You will become used to me over time." He used her other hand to cup his testicles. "_Sakal_," he said. "Be gentle." She smiled, her fingers dancing around him, a breath catching as he grew even longer, even harder from her tender ministrations.

"_Kroyka_," he insisted, pinning her hands with his own and removing them. Now he held her in a full body press, his heat against the entire front of her, his arms embracing her. He placed a kiss at her temple. "What did you think of my lesson?" he asked.

She was quivering against him, shivering with want. "More," she breathed.

He hefted her into his arms to lay her on the bed, stretching out beside her. "Do what you will, C'thanae. I am yours."

She found him a delight. He was hard plains and corded muscle. He was broad shoulders, narrow waist and trim hips. The smattering of salt and pepper curls that started at his shoulders and trailed down, narrowing to an arrow that pointed right to the heart of his masculinity. She stroked along his leg, the thickness of thigh muscle and tendons behind his knees, tapering to his ankles and long feet. And his manhood, _lok_, she remembered. Heavy and tumescent, she wondered how she would be able to take him within her body. A drop of pearlish moisture graced the tip.

She explored his body as he journeyed again along hers, every touch, every kiss designed to stoke the fires higher and hotter. Spock knew that when the time came for penetration, she would have to want it so mindlessly that she wouldn't pay heed to the pain she would feel from his thrust. It would be sharp and quick, but he would do it with reverence.

When the flames reached beyond fever pitch, he initiated her into full womanhood with gentle passion, taking her single cry of pain within his mouth and his mind and easing it for her. She was inexperienced and naïve, but not terrified, willing to try, even interested in what he could teach her. Together they rose to that ultimate plateau and together, they jumped over.

Minutes passed before he had finally been able to lift his head from where he had buried it in the crook of her shoulder, his breathing more normal. He'd found her with tears in her eyes. He'd asked if he had hurt her. Instead, she'd smiled softly and told him she'd never known loving could be so wonderful. When could they do it again?

He chuckled, smoothing her hair from her face. Wryly, he told her that even Vulcans needed a little recovery time and that he was sure she would not be up to a repeat performance until her own physical flesh had recovered. When she felt as though she could take him again without discomfort or pain, they would 'do it.' He would make sure to get for her _vilabon_ crystals to use in her bath to ease her discomfort.

He promised that from now on, as long as it was possible, he would not allow them to be separated at night. She was his wife in all ways that mattered. He was complete and fulfilled.

They showered together, keeping the fires simmering but not boiling over, dried off, then he'd tucked her into his bed and climbed in beside her. Through the night, they never released each other from an embrace of one kind or another, always touching, and he had awakened a moment ago, spooned against her back, her hair draped over his shoulder.

She took a deep breath as he let his hand drift lazily up and down her arm, his sensitive fingertips learning her skin, his warm breaths gently stirring the strands of her hair. She stretched, her body shuddering, then softened into the bed and his embrace. "What time is it?" she whispered.

"Six o'clock."

She tried to snuggle deeper into the bed. "I don't want to get up."

"It is your last day."

She yawned. "I would rather stay here with you."

"I also have to finish clearing my desk before we leave." If it were possible, he pulled her tighter against him. "You need to change before going to school. I will call a car for you," he offered.

That brought her wide awake, all semblance of afterglow vanishing. "Are you kidding? I still can't come and go without some silly reporter hanging around asking all kinds of questions. Can you imagine what'll happen if I'm caught, coming _in _at this time of the morning?"

"Would transporting in to your apartment help?"

"You can do that?"

"I can."

She laughed. "Talk about a clandestine affair. That has got to be the ultimate way of sneaking in and out."

"It is not 'sneaking in and out.' The transporter operator is aware of who is going where and a record is kept."

She turned in his arms to face him. "So we're busted anyway?"

"Busted? I do not understand this term."

" Hoist on our own petard, caught with our pants down, hand in the cookie…"

"I understand now," he interrupted, a smile curving the edges of his mouth. "I am an ambassador, I do have certain privileges."

"Like being able to sneak into a girl's apartment?"

He kissed her. "Like being able to permit you to return to yours without impediment."

"Use it often, do you?"

"No, C'thanae, and stop trying to bait me. I have not had an illicit affair and do not skulk about meeting with unsavory people."

"Can't tease you, can I?"

"I am sure over the course of our life together, the opportunity will present itself again."

She reached out and smoothed the hair across his brow. "If I transport in, that will give me a few more minutes with you, won't it?"

"Yes."

"Then teach me how to say I love you in Vulcan?"

"It is _taluhk nash-veh k'dular. _It means I cherish thee. To cherish in my society is more than to love."

"Talukh nash-veh k'dular," she repeated.

He corrected her until she had it right, which considering her capabilities, did not take long. She finally said it correctly, softly and tenderly, punctuating it with a kiss. But by then, she realized she had to get going or be late. Spock rolled to the opposite side of the bed and sat up, his feet on the floor, his hands grabbing the side of the bed for a moment as the room tilted and seemed to spin. As soon as the feeling passed, he rose and took up his robe to slide it on. Janeen had gotten into her underwear by then and was pulling on her trousers as he went to splash some water on his face to dispel any residual dizziness.

"Do you wish to have something to eat before you leave?" he asked as he left the bathroom, a towel in hand.

"No. I'll grab something while I change at home."

"Then when you are ready, I shall have you transported to your apartment." He left her to finish dressing in peace, going to the kitchen to grab a cup of processed tea. Perhaps he was slightly dehydrated. That could have easily accounted for the moment of dizziness.

They met up in the hallway and he walked with her to the living room, where her shoes waited by the sofa. She began to slip them on her feet as he went to the comm unit.

"Transport SF12, this is Ambassador Spock."

"Transport SF12, go ahead Ambassador."

"Lock onto my signal, one to beam to coordinates SF33481.44." He waved Janeen over to where he stood and gave her a kiss. "I shall see you tonight," he murmured. She returned a quick kiss before he moved aside to watch as she shimmered away. With his cup of tea, he returned to his bedroom to dress.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: I wrote this chapter for three reasons: 1). I wanted to give Spock and Janeen a conflict to face before their marriage. So many Star Trek conflicts are external, this is very internal for the couple. 2). I wanted to introduce a character that I love very much, Dr. Eric Zarkan. Like all of the people who have come before, he cares deeply for the Vulcan and is not afraid to stand up to him when necessary. He will appear in other shorts that I have created over the years. I also like Stepek, who in 'later years' becomes very important to Spock and his wife. Funny how the characters decide their own fate. 3). So many authors here have written stories about Spock going blind, and they have been wonderful stories, but Vulcans didn't develop those ears for nothing. So I decided to explore that possibility a little and hope someone with perhaps more insight than I will do a storyline devoted to this awareness.**_

* * *

David strolled into Spock's office as the ambassador sat behind his desk, his eyes locked onto his computer. "Almost done?" David asked.

Spock spared him a glance. "Perhaps a half hour more." With one hand he rubbed at his head across his brow. A headache had set in soon after he'd arrived at work that had done nothing more than worsen as time had passed.

"You okay?" David asked.

"A headache."

"I have something in my office that Vulcans can take. Do you want some?"

"No, thank you. I will rest when I get home." He kept his eyes glued to his computer screen, his hand still rubbing until he felt David's strong scrutiny. His hand dropped heavily. He turned in his chair. "Was there something else you wanted?"

"No, just checking in."

Spock faced back to his console. David took the hint and turned to leave. "Let me know when you're leaving," he asked as he went back to his own office, the door between the two left open.

Twenty minutes later, with a message that had been sent to David first that the commander thought Spock needed to see before leaving, he once again went through the connecting door to the desk. Spock had turned his chair away, his computer was shut off, his desk cleaned of any articles. "Spock?"

The chair turned around slowly. Spock's face wore an expression of misery, his eyes pained, the skin drained of color. "What the…?" David asked. "What's wrong?"

"That headache, it has become unbearable."

"You should have tried that medicine earlier."

"David, if mind control can not contain the pain, then neither will any medication you might have."

"Then you need a doctor."

Slowly, barely so as not to aggravate an already pounding head, Spock nodded agreement. David reached over the desk for the comm unit.

"Starfleet Med Center."

"Med Center."

"This is Cmdr. McFey in Ambassador Spock's office. Is Dr. Zarkan available?"

"One moment, Commander."

Several minutes passed as they waited. Spock's eyes closed and he took a few deep breaths in an effort to lessen the pain. "Zarkan here."

"Doctor, it's Cmdr. McFey for Spock. He seems to be suffering a debilitating headache. He's tried to cure it himself and not had much luck. Are you free to see him?"

"I can be there in ten minutes. Can he wait that long?" David looked to Spock who again, nodded slightly.

"He can. But not for much longer than that."

"I'll be there."

"Thank you. McFey out." He cut the communications and stared for a few heartbeats at Spock. Going into the bathroom, he wetted a cloth with cold water and brought it out, folding it to lay it over the Vulcan's forehead. "Lumens, half strength," he requested. The office lights dimmed. "Can you make it to the sofa?" he asked, his voice lowered.

"Yes, but I shall stay here."

David watched for a minute while the Vulcan struggled to ease the pain in his head. "That bad?"

"Yes."

"I hope you're not coming down with something."

"Nor I."

"Here, let me change that cloth." He took the washcloth from the Vulcan. The material, in just the few minutes that it had been on his forehead, was hot. McFey placed his hand where the cloth had been. "You're burning up." Spock's eyes closed again. Janeen would not be pleased. McFey disappeared into the bathroom again. After replacing the washcloth with a colder one, he took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Spock's desk to wait.

It wasn't long before a shimmering figure coalesced just beyond where David sat and he turned to greet the physician. Eric Zarkan was of average height with shocking black hair that was now starting to become peppered with silver. He had a gentle face and bright eyes that usually made him a hit with the ladies, but he had as yet to find one with whom to settle down. Not that he hadn't tried over the years, but like many in Starfleet, the job took more time than he had to devote some of it to matters of the heart. His voice was what was known as a bedroom voice, but he could command with the best of men. As a Captain in Starfleet, he was Chief of Staff for the Medical Center in San Fransisco. While he was an excellent doctor for most human medicines, he specialized in Vulcan diagnostics and surgery, and was thus, the ambassador's primary physician. And Spock was more comfortable with a human for reason he could only trace back to his association with McCoy. When not needed by the ambassador, which was not often, he treated any other Vulcans who wished to make use of his services.

Zarkan unslung his tricorder. "Commander,' he greeted. Removing the feinberger from the tricorder, he went directly to Spock and started taking readings. "How long have you been feeling ill?" he demanded.

"I felt dizzy this morning."

Zarkan continued his readings, quiet until he finished. Turning off the feinberger, he made several adjustments to the tricorder and spent a full minute perusing the readout. "I need blood work, and I'd like to get a full body scan."

"What is wrong?" Spock asked.

"It appears you have Robeson's."

"Explain," the Vulcan demanded.

"If it is Robeson's, it's a viral infection that attacks the joints and muscles, sometimes the nerves. If caught soon enough, you'll just feel like hell for a number of days. There's no cure, but the symptoms can be treated - analgesics, fluids and such, prevent any secondary infections."

"And if not caught soon enough?" David asked.

"If it invades the heart it can damage it or stop it. If it invades the brain, it can cause irreparable damage. The lungs, you'll stop breathing. And so on and so on. Do I need to continue?"

"Has it been caught in time?"

"I'll know once I get you into the hospital, get those tests and scans. Start treatment to prevent complications."

"Is he contagious?"

"I don't think so. Vulcans can catch Robeson's, and how he did we have to find out, but they rarely shed the virus."

"Doctor, he's supposed to be leaving for Vulcan tomorrow for his wedding."

Zarkan shook his head. "If he's not that sick, he might make it in time for the actual wedding, but leaving tomorrow? Not going to happen." He put the feinberger back in its slot in the tricorder then reached for one of Spock's arms to help him to rise. The ill man groaned, the virus already settling into his body to cause great pain upon movement. "Commander? You coming?"

"No," Spock said. "David, get Janeen. Do not call her, go to her and bring her. Get St'van."

He was already heading for the outside door to the office. "St'van."

The Vulcan looked up from his terminal. "Yes, Commander?"

"The ambassador needs your aid. He is ill. Dr. Zarkan is taking him to the Med Center."

The secretary frowned slightly, but shut off his terminal and rose. Following David back, he quickly slid under Spock's free arm to lend support. Zarkan tapped his comm pin. "Med Center," he called.

"Med Center."

"Zarkan, authorization code Z775221. Beam me and two more directly to the emergency room."

"Authorization code verified, Doctor. Transport in twenty seconds."

"Damn it," David muttered softly, heading into his own office.

Spock was still in the emergency room, still undergoing tests, when David arrived with Janeen. St'van was sitting in the hallway outside the emergency room corridor waiting for some word on his condition. The Vulcan rose as Janeen approached. He bowed his head to her, she was to be the Ambassador's mate, they were but days away from the marriage. She was already his _T'sai_. His Lady.

"Any word?" David asked.

"None, Commander."

"No word at all?" Janeen asked.

"No, Madam, except for what we have already heard. We must wait." He moved to the side so Janeen could take the seat in which he had just vacated.

David gave patience a half hour before he began to pace, looking to the doors leading into the emergency room each time he passed them, scowling on occasion. The third time he did it, St'van went to his side and softly murmured in his ear. Glancing over the Vulcan's shoulder, he spared a single look to Janeen then sighed and leaned against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest. St'van went back to his quiet contemplation. David huffed at the other. There were times when he really hated a Vulcan's ability to tamp down their impatience and act as though nothing was happening. They continued to wait.

Finally the person they wanted to see most, or second most, came through the doors. Zarkan went directly to the small group, standing in front of Janeen. "You're Spock's fiancee?" She nodded, fear in her eyes. Zarkan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He's very ill, but we got it just barely soon enough. No damage to the heart or lungs, or the brain, but he's in a hell of a lot of pain."

"How did he catch it?" David asked.

"He said he returned from Estes Ten three days ago?" Zarkan watched as both David and St'van nodded. "I checked the med alerts, there's an outbreak of Robeson's there. I assume he went alone? Otherwise, I'll need to check anyone else who went with him."

"He went alone," St'van confirmed.

"How long will he be laid up?" Janeen asked.

"I can't tell you for sure. Depends on how well he responds to the treatment and his own body's ability to fight to virus. I'll guess no less than a week."

St'van tilted his head thoughtfully. "If he can travel in seven days, you may still make the wedding," he informed Janeen. "After that, you will have to reschedule or postpone the ceremony." He bowed his head slightly. "My apologies, T'sai, I do not mean to distress, merely inform."

"I know, St'van. I don't care about that right now, just Spock."

"It will weigh heavily on Lord Spock, T'sai. You must convince him of that."

"Thank you. I will." She turned to Zarkan. "May I see him?"

"He's being moved to a room. As soon as he's settled, you can see him." Zarkan gave her a short but professional scrutiny. "Are you okay?" Her reply nod was jerky, but she managed a smile of assurance. "He'll be on the third floor, east wing. Give it about a half hour." Zarkan began to turn away, to go back to his patient, then returned. "By the way, I've enlisted a Healer to nurse him, an apprentice still, but more than qualified. His name is Stepek. He may be there when you go in."

Janeen gently smoothed two fingers down Spock's cheek. "Spock?"

His eyes opened immediately. "Janeen," he murmured softly. His whole body hurt, his head, his limbs, his chest, even his teeth. Zarkan had wanted to give him enough pain relief to eliminate the pain, but it would have put him to sleep. He refused.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am in pain."

"I am sorry you are so ill."

"It is I who should apologize. I have put the wedding in jeopardy."

"We can always have the ceremony another time. I prefer you well."

He started to reach up to her, but it hurt too much and his hand fell to his side. "I will marry you," he promised, "if I must do it from a hospital bed."

She smiled. "Well, then you have to get better. That's all I want."

"David? St'van?"

"Here, my Lord."

"Inform the Arkansas, we will not be leaving in the morning. Arrange for Janeen's parents to stay in the city, my expense."

"It shall be done, my Lord," St'van promised.

"They can stay with me," Janeen said. "I just need someone to meet them at the space port."

"With your permission," St'van offered with a bow, "I shall go."

"And I'll call the Arkansas," David put in. "Any one or anything else?"

"Not now. Perhaps later." He winced slightly as he tried to find comfort on the bed. "I am tired."

"Then sleep," Janeen told him. "I'll be here when you wake." She smoothed along his cheek again. "I love you."

As he closed his eyes and let himself drift into sleep, a young Vulcan male entered the room, a man younger even than St'van. He wore an outfit of green, the style and insignias that of a Healer still in training, not yet fully vetted, but soon to be. He glanced at the people in the room, his concern for his patient first and foremost. He had been warned that the ambassador had a woman, a human woman, and two subordinates waiting for word on the ambassador. He held the items he had brought with him close to his stomach and bowed to the visitors. He could not offer the ta'al with his hands full. "My Lady," he greeted, "I am Stepek. I am honored to serve for Lord Spock."

"And I am honored to have you serve him, Stepek. Thank you." She indicated the two men with her. "These are his friends, David McFey and St'van."

"Gentlemen," he offered in greeting. "If you will pardon me, I must tend to the ambassador." He moved towards the side of the bed to deposit the materials he carried onto the bed beside Spock. He made fast work of inserting a catheter into the back of Spock's hand, attaching a bag of Vulcan saline to it, and setting the stream to run at a moderate pace. Spock flinched once as the needle was inserted, but did not wake. The Healer tossed the empty packaging in a recycling unit and set the extra on the night table beside the bed. Checking the monitor, Stepek made a slight adjustment and once he was satisfied, he moved to take a seat near a monitoring station.

"Janeen," David said, "can I get you anything?" He shrugged. "I assume you're staying for a while?"

"Yes, but there's nothing I need for now."

"Then I'm going to place that message to the Arkansas, and I suppose Starfleet Command, in case they need the ship elsewhere."

"Please give the captain of the Arkansas my apologies, David."

"I'll pass it along. I'll come back later to give you a chance to get some rest." He laid a hand on her shoulder. Stepek's eyebrow rose at the familiarity. "He'll be fine. He's strong, and he has you." He sent St'van a significant look.

The secretary also bowed now. "T'sai, I too, will take my leave to meet your parents. Shall I bring them here, or to your apartment?"

"I'm sure they'll want to come here first, St'van."

He woke from a nap the third afternoon of his stay in the hospital, feeling moderately better than he had the previous two. He had not been able to easily tolerate the pain he'd been in, even breathing at times had hurt and his doctor had put him on a ventilation hose for support. He still had the catheter in his hand, in case he needed to be placed on fluids again, but the tubing had been detached that morning once he'd proved he could drink enough fluids on his own.

The hospital was very quiet. Unusual, he thought. Normally, it was filled with the every day sounds of hospital life - patients, nurses and doctors going about their business. Even his room was empty. His Healer nurse, Stepek, was not at his usual post, sitting at the monitors keeping watch, unless the sick man required something.

Hiring a Vulcan Healer had been a clever move on the part of Zarkan. The Healer was a man that Spock could not influence, for he took his orders from the doctor directly. Having a male and a Vulcan helping him with those things he required of a personal nature was easier for Spock to handle than had he had a human male, or worse still, a woman attending to him. Stepek kept him comfortable and clean, an aid to his improving.

He lifted an arm experimentally to see how much it ached and was pleased that that was all it did - ache, strongly, but ache. No tormenting pain. The same was true for his legs. Perhaps he would be allowed to get out of bed for a while. He was tired of the confinement and the helpless feeling.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door to his room open, allowing Stepek to enter. The Healer, finding his patient awake, bowed respectfully. His lips moved in speech. Speech which Spock could not hear.

"I can not hear you," he said, not sure if his voice spoke or not. He could not hear even within his own head.

There was obviously nothing wrong with it outside of his head however, as Stepek frowned for a second. His lips moved again, but Spock shook his head. He could not hear.

At his equipment, Stepek dug out his tricorder and feinberger and began to take readings, first at Spock's right ear, then his left, checking the readings against the tricorder for accuracy. He leaned over Spock to push the call button for the nurse's station, asking for something Spock could not interpret. Stepek went back to his readings, checking again.

Zarkan came in. "You paged?"

"Lord Spock is deaf," the Healer reported.

"Say again?" the physician asked, stunned.

Stepek handed over the tricorder. "Lord Spock has gone deaf." Zarkan began to read the report. "His auditory nerves are being pinched by the swelling of the canals. He can not hear."

"The virus."

"I would concur. I can research the journals, see if this has ever been reported as a byproduct of the disease."

Zarkan nodded. "Please, do so, as soon as possible. Contact the Starbase on Estes Ten and see if they have any similar cases. I don't know, this could be something particular to Vulcans."

"I shall confer with the Science Center."

"No, not yet. Let's keep this to ourselves for right now. I don't want a media circus if this gets out."

"I shall be discreet in my research."

"Fine, don't give anyone any idea on why you're looking if you can." He gave Stepek a direct look. "Lie, if you have to, just don't tell anyone Spock is involved."

The Healer's shocked expression told Zarkan all he needed to know what the other felt about his statement, but Stepek agreed that if word got out that the ambassador was deaf, they would be swamped. Besides, there was no indication that he would not recover his hearing as soon as the swelling went down and the whole point would become moot.

"Gentlemen," Spock said impatiently.

Zarkan looked up guiltily. "Yes, um. Stepek, do you have a padd around?"

"Yes, sir." Going to his monitoring seat, he picked up a padd and stencil and passed them over. "I shall be in the library doing research."

Writing furiously on the padd, Zarkan dismissed the Healer. "Sure. I'll make sure he's taken care of." When he'd finished, he turned the padd so Spock could see it.

The sick man took the padd to read, his expression growing uneasy at the note. "Will it resolve itself?" he asked holding the padd for Zarkan to take.

The doctor wrote. " 'That I can't answer.'"

"Perhaps an audiologist?"

Zarkan shrugged and wrote again. " 'Let's give it a day or so, see if the swelling diminishing makes a difference.' "

Spock looked thoughtful a moment. "The longer it takes to heal, the greater the chances it will affect my hearing?"

" 'Possibly. The swelling is most likely keeping us from detecting if there is any nerve damage. We need to get the swelling down.' "

"Then I could be partially, if not totally deaf."

" 'We have to consider it, but not right now. Your hearing could come back as easily as it went. Give it some time.' "

"How much time before you will know for sure?"

" 'Let me change the anti-inflammatory meds and see what that does. Maybe I will consult with an audiologist, get some specific ear drops.' "

Zarkan erased the message after Spock had read it then wrote again. " 'In the meantime, try not to talk too much. Your vocal chords are still inflamed as well and you shouldn't aggravate them.' "

Spock let the padd drop onto his lap and allowed a show of frustration to cross his features. This was impossible, he could not spend the next few days writing and reading messages. It took too much time and didn't give him the freedom of asking everything he wanted to know in depth. There had to be a better way to speed this up. He gave the physician a curious glance. "Zarkan, mind meld with me."

"What?" the doctor asked, forgetting. He lifted his shoulders in a questioning motion. "Why?"

"We can communicate through a mind meld."

" 'I've never mind melded before,' " Zarkan wrote.

"It is simple enough."

" 'I know.' " Zarkan walked away for a moment, deep in contemplation. He was intrigued. With all of the Vulcan patients he had, he knew enough about the mind meld, but had never experienced it first hand. There was no pain involved, but it was a great intrusion for both parties, a breach of privacy that Vulcans usually abhorred. He did what he had to do for his patients knowing the limits set by which he could treat them. His patients knew that there were times when he would have to touch them and violate those limits, and accepted those conditions. There were enough Healers on Earth if the Vulcans did not want a human physician, yet Zarkan's calendar was usually full. However, it would be interesting to actually experience a mind meld.

He went back to Spock's bedside and nodded. "Okay."

Spock reached for the doctor, pulling him closer. He held Zarkan's left wrist in his left hand and placed his right hand on the other's face. "Relax," he said calmly, "let your mind empty. Listen only to my voice, think only of my voice." As soon as he had set the controls and made the connection, he dropped his right hand, his touch light on the doctor's wrist.

'This is intriguing,' Zarkan observed.

'You are an easy subject, perhaps due to your curiosity as a physician and experiences, however touch minimized, with Vulcan patients. I promise, I shall not violate your patients' confidentiality.'

'That's good to know. You know, you could get me into a lot of trouble, if you decided.'

'You have my word. What is my condition?'

'You fever's down, not as far as I would like it, but not dangerously high. You can judge yourself on how much pain you are experiencing.'

'It has improved greatly, though there is still pain.'

'If you stay on the analgesics, they will help.'

'Your medicines make me lethargic.'

'Save them for night then, so you can sleep. Best thing for you is rest.'

'Will I be able to leave for Vulcan soon?'

'Few more days, Spock. You're better off allowing yourself a few more days of rest and care to insure you don't relapse. And you can, if you push it. I don't want any other problems to crop up.'

'Such as?'

'If your fever returns, it could cause organ damage or failure. Your kidneys are working at a reduced rate, and you know how important they are. Your body is geared to hold fluids, but too much and you could drown in them. You should be more stable before taking any space trips.' He smiled. 'Or getting married. I'm sure you want to be healthy for that.'

'Indeed. Where has Stepek gone?'

'Research, see if this particular problem has come up before.'

'Would a healing trance help?'

'Not necessary. Your condition doesn't warrant a trance. It would be overkill.'

'Then I shall refrain.'

'Thanks, I think. Think you could handle some solid food today?'

'That would be desirable, yes. I would also ask if I can get out of bed for a while?'

'I can do that for you right now, if you wish. I have to have my wrist back. Will that break the meld?'

'Yes, until I touch you again. I have set the controls already so that a touch will reestablish the meld. I will dissolve them when they are no longer necessary.'

'All right, then lean on me, let me do all of the work and just follow along.' Spock released Zarkan's wrist and all went silent again. He panicked for a moment, like he had when he'd first gone blind on the Enterprise. Outwardly, he'd acted calm, but inside…If the loss of his sight had been permanent, he might not have survived it.

Zarkan tossed the blankets back and wrapped an arm around Spock's shoulders, helping him to rise. It hurt more than he'd thought as he groaned aloud, but when Zarkan asked with a look of he should continue, Spock nodded. He wanted out of that bed.

Getting his feet on the floor, Spock stood for second, a wave of dizziness making him sway slightly, but he quickly got his balance back, Zarkan's grip firm. Swinging around, he lowered himself to the chair next to the bed with a sigh. Zarkan pulled the blanket from the bed and covered his legs and feet. He held out his wrist.

'Better?'

'Yes, thank you, Doctor.'

'You were dizzy there for a moment.'

'I have been in bed for three days.'

'How is the pain?'

'It is manageable.'

'If you want a mild pain killer, just say so.'

'I will follow your suggestion and save it for night.'

Stretching out, Zarkan grabbed the padd and put it next to Spock. 'I'm going to assume you will want to keep the melds down to a minimum?'

'You are quite right. Thank you.'

'I'll make sure the nurses know that if you page them, they are to answer, in person, immediately.'

'You must leave?'

'Yes. I do have other patients, you know,' he sent with a hint of a laugh.

'Of course. Forgive me for monopolizing so much of your time.'

'That's not what I meant and you know it. Will you be all right by yourself?'

'I shall watch out the window.'

'What about Stepek? Will you meld with him?'

'We already have a moderate rapport. As a Healer, he employs minimum melds to aid his patients. We will be fine.'

'Spock, I want to you to know, I'll do all I can to reverse this…'

'I understand Doctor. It is not your fault and I shall deal with the consequences, if there should be any.'

'And Janeen?'

'We shall…talk…when she comes in later.'

'I will check in later then. Don't forget, stay put and page a nurse if you need something.'

'Thank you, Dr. Zarkan.' Spock released the physician's wrist and fell back into the soundless void. Zarkan bent his head down to see exactly how Spock was, but the Vulcan gave him a nod and turned towards the window. Zarkan wasn't fooled. Spock was upset, he'd lost his hearing and was trying to show it didn't matter. But it did and the doctor knew the implications would catch up with him soon enough, especially if it turned out to be permanent.

Vulcans relied so much on their hearing without even thinking about it. They had very sensitive ears evolved from thousands of years of living on a hot, dry, desert-like planet where the air was thinner. In any Earthlike atmosphere, they could hear a pin drop, literally. Whispers were not secrets with a Vulcan in the room. And loud noises were painful to their eardrums, sometimes to the point of incapacitating.

Zarkan knew that Spock, as an ambassador, could still function. There were devices that would allow for a perfunctory kind of speech, toneless and unemotional, but speech. But he also knew the man, that he would never truly enjoy a piece of music again or hear the sounds of his children when he had them. There would be substance in his life, but no flavor.

He didn't know how the Vulcan would cope. Historically, many Vulcans who felt a burden to their society would suicide before allowing that to happen. Any impairment was considered a defect and unacceptable. The doctrine was ingrained from the days when Vulcans were still a warrior race, infirmities were a weakness that hindered the tribe and made them vulnerable. Only the strong survived, for all of their highbrow IDIC principles. If it turned out that Spock would never regain his hearing, Zarkan would certainly make sure he conferred with a counselor.

Spock was considering the same thoughts. At first, when he sat in the chair, he had begun to quake inside. It had been hard to control it so the doctor would not have seen. But once Zarkan had left, he had found his grip on the arms of the chair so tight that his knuckles had turned white with it. Lifting his hands, they visibly shook and he clenched them tightly.

Surak had written to 'cast out fear…to acknowledge that it is there, to accept that it is there and then to move beyond it, that beyond the fear was true power.' Spock was afraid, afraid that he would never hear again. And he did not know how to move past it. He was lost on the path to true power.

He did not know how he would cope should this become a permanent condition. He knew the possibilities, what he would be able to do and what he would miss. He would live half of a life without the beauty of sound, without being able to hear his wife's voice again, or her music, or the laughter of his children when they came. His heart was heavy, but he was a Vulcan, and grief over something like this was unacceptable. Yet he was half human, and the grief was unavoidable.

He hadn't realized how long he sat there, watching the world carry on as though there was nothing wrong in this room in the hospital. The passing of time did not register even with the traversing of the sun across the sky and the lengthening of the shadows. He did not hear the nurse come into his room to check on him. She put his ignorance of her presence down to typical Vulcan reticence and withdrew without an answer. He did not realize a dinner tray had been brought in and placed on the rolling bed table. Nothing took his mind from his problems until a hand fell on his shoulder and he stiffened, startled. Turning, he found Janeen, a puzzled look on her face. She had felt something was wrong the moment she'd crossed the threshold into his room. Behind her stood her father, his head tilted slightly with curiosity.

Spock took Janeen's hand. "Gary, may I have a moment alone with Janeen?" He saw Gary mouth the word 'sure,' and waited until he'd withdrawn.

She asked him a question, more puzzled by his attitude, taking a deep breath when he opened their link. 'What is wrong?'

'Janeen, I must tell you something.'

'Like this? Why not just say it out loud?'

'The disease has caused my ear canals to swell and press on the auditory nerves. I am deaf.' He sent her the gist of his conversation with Zarkan.

Her eyes widened and she pulled away, turning from him in dismay and overwhelming sorrow. "Janeen," he said, his voice hoarse. "C'thanae?"

She faced him, her eyes filled with tears, offering her hand to him. He held it tightly. 'My god, Spock. What else did the doctor say?'

'To give it time. When the swelling goes down, perhaps my hearing will return, perhaps not if there is nerve damage.'

'How will you function? What will we do?'

He filled with relief. She had asked what will _we _do? 'We will carry on, as before. If I can not work as an ambassador, I shall retire from the Corps. I can do research.'

'Will you be happy doing research?'

'Happy? Perhaps. As long as I might be useful. I will be content as your husband.'

'We'll do whatever we have to to make it easier for you.'

'I will miss your music.'

'Music is a little thing compared to having you with me.'

'Thank you, C'thanae. I did not know how you would take this.'

'I shall never not love you, Spock. You are a part of me, always.' She leaned into him to place a kiss on his mouth. 'We have this, too,' she added, sending him images of the night nearly four nights ago when they'd first made love.

'I am sorry we have not had an opportunity to repeat that night.'

'So am I, my love, so am I,' she agreed. 'Shall we let my father in now?'

'Yes, of course.'

She gave him a bright smile before going to the door. Her father waited against the wall just outside. "Dad," she said, her voice breaking.

Gary's concern rose instantly. "Baby girl, what's wrong?"

She fell into his arms, holding back tears. It felt pointless trying to restrain her physical reaction, Spock would know anyway. But she would try - for him. "Spock. The virus, it's made him deaf."

"What do you mean, deaf?"

"The virus has caused his ear canals to pinch the nerves. He can't hear."

"Wait, then. How did he tell you?" He leaned back to look at her.

"We have a mental bond, Dad. He can speak to me with his mind."

"He's telepathic?"

"All Vulcans are to some degree. Seems I am too, a little."

Gary gave her a look like that of someone having just found a strange, new kind of bug. "Really? Wonder where that came from?"

"It's not important right now. He has a padd you can use to write with. Just wanted to let you know before you go in."

Gary enclosed her in another hug. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." He rubbed her back. "It'll work out fine."

I know, Dad. It's just…"

"I know, Baby girl." He slid his arm around her shoulders. "Come on," he said and lead her into the room.

Janeen immediately offered her hand again. "Gary," Spock voiced out loud. "Janeen told you."

"Yes," Gary replied before remembering. Janeen started to reach for the padd to pass to her father when Spock stayed her hand.

"Gary, tell me your name." Gary reached for the padd again. "Do not use the padd."

He gave Spock a curious look. "Gary Michael Simmons."

An eyebrow rose. "Interesting."

'What?'

"I can hear Gary's voice, through you. It is not exact, but it is definitely his voice."

"As long as we're linked, you can hear?"

"It would appear so."

"But we have to touch to be linked."

"Yes."

"And Vulcans aren't exactly known for holding hands."

"We will be newly wedded. It will not be overly examined."

Her brow wrinkled in thoughtful expression. "We could pull it off for a while. Give you time to see if you'll get your hearing back."

"That is what I was considering."

"We could shelter you from everyone else," Gary said. "You have been ill for the last three days. That'll carry for a while as well. Between that and the newly wed thing, you could pull it off for at least a month, maybe two. By then, would you know any more?"

"There would most likely be more information available concerning my personal condition. I would hope that the swelling should also have ended long before then."

"If there is nerve damage, did your doctor say anything about what you could do then?"

"He does not wish to consider that possibility until the swelling has resolved."

Gary leaned against the bed, crossing his ankles. "Okay, so did he give you any idea of when you'll be released from here? Will you make the wedding date?"

"That is a better possibility. If we arrive on Vulcan with five days to spare, we will be able to have the wedding as planned. I would ask one thing."

"What is that?"

"We must keep the number of people who know of this to a minimum. Our wedding will be enough of a news item without this being known."

"Agreed," Gary said. "Mom will have to know, of course."

"And the McFeys, as well as St'van."

"What about the President?"

"Only if it comes to it, and no less than three days before the wedding. He will be en route after that. And until Janeen arrives for the actual ceremony, I will require help with the ritual."

"I'm sure that can be arranged easily enough."

"Thank you, Gary."

"I do suggest that you stop talking for a while. Your voice is getting more hoarse by the minute. Janeen can be our go between."

"It won't be the first time I've been an interpreter," she admitted with a smile.

'Your services are very appreciated.' Spock 'said,' giving her hand a squeeze.

They stood alone in the room. Night had fallen and Gary had gone to the nurses' desk for a cup of coffee. Spock held Janeen lightly, soothingly, as much for his sake as for hers. He had asked her not to leave with her father and in the asking, she had known something else was bothering him.

'Tell me,' she asked, leaning into him as she caressed at his temples.

'Explain.'

'Something else is on your mind.'

He took a deep breath, resting against her hair, the scent fragrant. She had finally told him that she had a special scent created for herself and used it in her toiletries. To him, it had become as much a part of her as the way she spoke or looked. He had made a promise to himself to make sure she always had that scent available.

'How can I explain?' he asked. 'When you first entered the room, I did not know you were there. You were not the first person to have come in since I have discovered my loss, yet I did not know of it. That was my fault, I was too wrapped up in my condition that I was not paying attention. With you, I should have recognized your perfume. Perhaps seen your reflection in the window.

'What if there was no perfume? What if there was no glass to make a reflection? The day we met, in the Old Market, I was there because I was deliberating a problem. But I could hear. I heard those cadets arguing. I heard your voice as you spoke to Alyssa. I heard the sound of your footsteps and the sound of the one cadet's fist as it hit against the other's face. Now, I can not hear. Not Zarkan, not you, not even my own voice. Anyone can accost me without warning and _I will be unaware of it. _It terrifies me. How can I sleep at night, without hearing and sight, and feel safe?'

'I'm sorry…'

He cut her off. 'Do not apologize. This afternoon when you came in was my fault, my negligence. I should have been more attentive. But I can not guarantee it will not happen again. On a street, on a mission, in my own home. I have made enemies during my life. The thought of being surprised by some as yet unknown danger, of someone taking advantage of my disability and harming you or my family and my not knowing of it, frightens me more than I would have believed possible.'

'We'll think of something. There has to be a way. Deaf people the galaxy over learn to live with their handicap. So can you. We can put sensors on the doors and windows and give you a receiver so you'll know when someone comes through them. Maybe a light sensor can be placed on the bedroom door so if someone comes into the room a light goes on. We'll figure it out, I promise.'

'Will I ever hear my child's cry?' he asked harshly. 'Your voice again? Your music? I can not tolerate the thought of losing any of that.'

'Then don't consider it. Be positive instead.'

'I must consider the alternatives. Should my hearing return, my life will go on as planned. One direction, one answer. But there are too many avenues my life can take if it does not.'

'Zarkan said you shouldn't start thinking in those terms yet.' She caressed his cheeks, along his jaw. 'Please, c'thana.'

'C'thana? You have looked up the word?'

She nodded. 'You are my true life. My reality.'

He laid his forehead to hers. 'Until I have conquered this, until we have worked out an alarm of some sort, I do not wish to be left alone.' He pulled her tightly against himself, his fright transferring itself to her in the form of a shudder. She wrapped her arms around him in comfort.

'I will stay as long as you want,' she promised.

'There was a time, on the Enterprise, when I lost my sight. It was a temporary condition. We have an inner eyelid to protect us from the glare of our sun. I was exposed to an intensely bright light. But while I was blinded, I had my hearing. I could hear the footsteps of the nurses, the crackling of McCoy's ligaments and tendons in his legs as he walked, the sound the ship made as it reacted to the stresses of changing speeds. I was blind, but I did not feel as frightened as I do now.'

'You're not alone.'

He smoothed the hair from her face, combing it with his fingers. '_C'thanae_.'


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: I am glad that I remembered that the USS Ranger, CV -61, for awhile, took on the role of the USS Enterprise (Star Trek IV, the Voyage Home). I am also proud that my father - IRL - served on that magnificent vessel during the Pueblo Incident in 1968. So I thank my dad, CPO Guigno Carapellotti, posthumously, for his service and for the use of his name and his ship in this chapter.**_

* * *

Zarkan released him two days later. Everyone met in his hospital room. The McFeys, Gary and Elizabeth, and St'van, all gathered at the Med Center since Spock would be transporting directly to the ship. Having heard he was still on Earth and had been hospitalized, news reporters had camped out in front of the entrances to the Med Center and his office, hoping to catch the ambassador for an interview. Janeen's apartment was also under surveillance. David bypassed them all by having the ship beam up the luggage from each person's residence and they all acted as though their trip to the hospital was merely a planned visit.

Spock still did not have his hearing back. The swelling had gone down considerably, but he remained deaf. An audiologist had been called in for a consult. Nerves, he said, were interesting things. They could take a beating and keep working. Or they could be hit with a minimal problem and go down without a fight. He agreed with Zarkan, to give it time before anything drastic was considered. There were implants that might help, or they could try nerve regeneration. In the meanwhile, he approved of Spock using Janeen as a go between and of him also learning a bit of lip reading, handing him a tape to view. On his own, Spock had already picked up a number of words just from observing.

The doctor also changed the medication Zarkan had first used, giving him a different anti-inflammatory that also had an anti-itch property. He had been rubbing at his ears the last day. Finally, he recommended that Spock continue with a medication to soothe his throat, since ears and throat were connected.

So, they gathered in his room and David put through the hail to beam up the group.

On board the _Miranda_ class starship, USS Ranger, the bosun's whistle sounded a greeting. The captain, a Joseph Carp, stepped forward to meet his distinguished passengers. Spock touched Janeen's hand in a ta'al.

"Ambassador, welcome aboard."

"Captain," he replied. "She who is to be my wife, Janeen," he introduced. "Her parents, Captain and Mrs. Gary Simmons, Commander and Mrs. David McFey and their family, and St'van." The platform emptied and the captain acknowledged each one in turn. Behind him, the intercom hailed.

"Capt. Carp."

"Go ahead, Lt. Arden."

"Ready to break orbit, Sir, on your command."

"I so order, Lt. Arden. Best speed for Vulcan."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Ambassador, if you will follow me, I'll show you to your quarters." He lead the way into the corridor. "We should reach Vulcan around 2200 ship's time tomorrow."

"That will be sufficient." The ship's time would be mid-morning Vulcan time. David had arranged for a transport to meet them at the space port to take everyone to the house in the mountains. St'van would be staying with family in Shi Kahr city.

They came to the McFey's quarters first, so David and his wife and children went in to settle in. Gary and Elizabeth were second. St'van had a single room on the other side of the rooms reserved for Spock and Janeen. Capt. Carp gave a slight tilt to his head. "Ambassador, my surgeon has told me that you have recently been ill, so please, rest if you need. If you feel up to it, I would be delighted to have you and your guests join me for breakfast in the morning."

"Thank you, Captain. I accept your invitation."

"Then I will take my leave of you. If you need anything, please ask."

"Thank you, Captain."

Spock looked around their quarters. The Ranger was slightly smaller than the Arkansas, so the rooms were also slightly smaller, but adequate for their needs for this trip. He had been assured that the Arkansas would be their transport for their honeymoon trip.

The sitting room had a solid bulkhead against which was set a long sofa. Chairs bookended the sofa and a table was set in front of it. To its right, a long table for dining waited for sitters.

To the left of the sitting room was the entrance to the sleeping area, where a double bed was pushed against a transparent bulkhead. They would be sleeping 'under the stars.' The luggage was placed on the floor at the footend of the bed and a particular piece caught his eye. Stooping, he pulled the case free and took it to the sitting area.

"Why is this here?" He held out the case that contained his lyre.

She placed her fingers on the back of his hand. 'For the same reason I brought my keyboard. You also told me there is a piano at your home on Vulcan.'

"I am deaf, I can not hear."

She took the case and pulled him to the sofa, making him sit. Opening the case, she removed the lyre, forcing him to take it in his hands. She touched his skin. 'Play a regular C note.'

He stared at her for a long second, but then complied, strumming the instrument he could no longer hear.

'Now do it again, and feel the vibrations of the lyre on your leg.' He repeated her instructions, concentrating on the feel of the vibrations as they were transmitted to his leg. 'Do a D. Feel the difference in the vibrations.'

Again, he complied. There were differences, minute, but distinguishable. With that in mind, he ran through several chords, remembering in his head what they should sound like and connecting the sounds in his head with the vibrations. As a hearing being, he had never paid much attention to the physical aspects of playing his lyre.

He looked at Janeen. "Interesting."

'I did some research last night. This won't work with my keyboard, since it is electronic, but with that piano at your home, if you place your hand on the frame, you should be able to _hear_ the notes.'

He set the lyre on the table. 'That will help some. It will not, however, work for speech.'

'You're learning to lip read. You can use it with Terran speaking species and we can learn sign language. I'll be your interpreter, so I'm sorry, but you're stuck with me.'

'Janeen, you can not learn sign for every possible language with which I may have to deal.'

'No, but I can listen to a translator and then sign for you.'

He stood and moved around the table, deep in thought. Could she have found a way to give him back a semblance of his life? He had met deaf people in his travels, they seemed content with their existence. He tried to remember if any of them had been deafened later or born deaf, for how can you miss something you have never had?

He could play the simple notes on the lyre, but the harp was so much more complicated than that. There were thousands of tonal qualities on the instrument, he would never be able to hear them all. But he could still play them, from memory as long as someone tuned the lyre to the proper tone for each song. Did this mean that his repertoire was now limited to the songs which he already knew?

No, this would never work. There were two many variables. Should he decide to rely on sign language, he had to watch his interpreter, and so much of negotiating was dependent upon being able to watch body language. He could not do two things at once, no matter how good he may have been before. And while he depended on David, there were times when his interpretation had to count.

He swung around to face her, his brow drawn in a question. "You are determined in this?"

She joined him, taking his hand. 'Yes. I know you can do it, and I'll be there to help you, as will everyone else.'

"The wedding?"

'You've been ill. We can go to the ceremony, St'van will help you with the timing. Then you can plead anything you want to get out of the reception. Anyone who can't understand that, too bad.' She wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled his head down to give him a kiss. 'There's one sign I learned.'

She held her hand up, her middle two fingers palmed, the others held straight out. 'This means I love you.' She giggled.

"What do you find amusing?"

'I can tell you I love you and no one will know. So much for your high minded Vulcan Emily Posts.'

He started to ask, but she waved him off. 'Never mind,' she insisted, 'I'll explain later.'

"Janeen, this will be very intensive learning. It may be a long time before we are proficient."

'We'll give it all the time you need.'

"I will not play music again. It is too painful, to not hear the notes. Your vibrations are substance, not music, and I know what music is. I can not do it."

'All right, we'll put it aside for now. Maybe you'll change your mind.'

"Everything in our home will have to be converted for hearing and nonhearing commands. I can not even turn on or off the lights without a switch now."

'We'll make the changes.'

"How can you continue to have such optimism in the face of such tribulation?"

'I love you, all of you, the easy parts and the hard parts. Would you give up, if our positions were reversed?'

"No," he avowed.

'Then shut up, your voice is going again. Unless you want to start working on sign language right now, I suggest you take me into that bedroom and let us communicate in a much more basic way.'

The rest of the trip went well, though the constant physical contact between the Ambassador and his fiancee certainly went against many of the stories that the crew had heard about Vulcans. Aside from that fact, the crew remained ignorant of the ambassador's condition.

There was no big, formal reception of the ambassador upon his arrival. Spock had made it clear that he was here to be married and had no time for hierarchal formalities. They were treated as any other person arriving on Vulcan and lead to their vehicles. It wasn't until they reached the house that Janeen gave Spock one of her teacher looks, one that said he owed her an explanation - big time.

She watched in wonder as the house loomed before them, much larger in comparison to what she had imagined. The only castles she'd ever seen had been in holos and history books. This house, this castle, had stepped right out from legend. It had been carved from the rock surrounding the mountain against which it lay and overlooked the expanse of Vulcan's Forge to one side. The greetings at the front gate and door were made with extreme reverence, bows all around from everyone within. And there were a number of servants in the house. Spock was addressed as _S'haile_. Each time he saw the lips move with the word, he appeared uncomfortable. Everyone realized that with the number of people around, keeping his deafness a secret would be difficult.

Spock solved that problem right off. He temporarily dismissed all of the Vulcans, saying there were enough people in the wedding party to keep the part of the house they would be using and it was illogical to have so many where they weren't needed. They could return after the ceremony. In the meanwhile, among the luggage was a crateful of screens that would change spoken words to written language. David and Gary would begin to install them to the comm units as soon as the house was cleared. If a message came through, the words would automatically show up on the screens.

Janeen dragged to him to a quiet room, what appeared to be an office, the shelves lined with books, a large desk centered opposite the door into the room. 'What is going on?' she asked him.

'Explain.'

'What's with all of the genuflecting going on here? What does _S'haile_ mean?'

'You have heard of Surak.'

'Yes.'

'I am a direct descendant of Surak. _S'haile_ means Lord, but it is more than that in Vulcan society. I am treated as you would treat royalty because I am considered what you would call royalty. Telek-sen-deen is one of the ruling families of Vulcan and I am head of the family.'

'And you're just telling me this now because..?'

'I prefer what I have earned. I do not hold a seat on the Council. I keep my lands, my inheritance, for the future. But I am not on the planet as often as the Council would require. The seat is held by a minor member of the family. My status here is inherited.

'Janeen, I was maligned on my home planet because of who I was, a child of mixed heritage. I fought a hard won battle to achieve higher and do better to prove I was worthy of being called Vulcan, and I did all that I set out to do. It was not good enough, it was never good enough. I left to find a place where I could be who I was without censure.

'My mother was not recognized by the High Council for the first twenty years of her marriage to my father. She was the wife of one of the highest regarded citizens of Vulcan, but they treated her like she was invisible. I did not return for eighteen years because my father had disowned me for choosing Starfleet. _Vre'kasht_, outcast, he declared me and no amount of arguing from my mother would change his mind. He no longer considered me his son. All of this,' and he swept his hand around them, 'was lost to me for all of that time. This was my home and I was not welcomed in it if my father was in residence. My mother fought my father constantly to keep me in this house instead of allowing me to be sent away to a boarding school to receive a proper education without the emotional influence of his own wife.

'Vulcans preach infinite diversity in infinite combinations, yet all they ever saw in me was my difference. Can you understand why I turned down a seat on the High Council?' She nodded, tears in her eyes. She had never heard the full story of what had happened between himself and his father and his misery, even after all of this time, tore her apart.

'I knew the day would come when I would have a child or children, so this I have kept. I also have my father's estate and the one given to me in my twelfth naming year. They shall pass to my children, my sons or daughters. Not to some minor member of this house. I am the heir, and my children will follow me. For all I had to tolerate, all that I did to prove my worth for my first eighteen years, it is mine and will remain with mine for all time.'

He gently wiped her tears away, his ire dissipated. 'Do not be surprised if you are shunned. There are still prejudices on Vulcan, which is very illogical for those of my race. But you are my wife and even should you be shunned, it had best be done with respect or I will bring the full power of my inheritance into play. And I assure you, it is quite formidable.'

He gave her a smile, watching, waiting, until she returned one in kind, leaning into him. 'You are _T'sai_ Janeen, Lady Janeen; _Aduna_ Spock, life mate of Spock. You are my C'thanae.'

Leaning towards her, he kissed her as he'd been wanting to for the last four days, with all of the passion pent up from being hospitalized, from being ill, from losing his hearing. He was home now, in his house, on his lands, soon to become hers as well. Here was his heart, here was his soul. He let the fire burn hot between them, the flames flaring up with a promise of a lifetime of burning to share.

Were it not for the fact they had a meeting this evening with T'Sar and his stomach was rumbling strongly, he would have taken a moment to lock the door and made love to her then and there. But he broke off the kiss, swiping her mouth dry with a thumb. 'Tonight,' he promised.

Spock was resting, having the house for himself for the day for the first time in two days. Though he came to Vulcan on a regular basis, it still took him time to reacclimate to his planet's atmosphere and temperatures. By the wedding he would be back to his full Vulcan physiology, but he was having a longer readjustment period right now, probably due to his recent illness.

The wedding was in three days. Tonight, if he'd not regained his hearing, they would alter the plans for the wedding, taking it from the elaborate affair it was to a simple ceremony. He would have to confess to a few concerning his affliction - T'Sar and A Halil - but invited guests would have time to cancel travel plans.

Everyone had gone into the city to tour and window shop while Janeen met with T'Sar once again at the older woman's request. He had remained at home, having been pampered for long enough and resolved with his fears now that he was on Vulcan, surrounded by monitors and word writers.

He still followed the doctor's orders rigorously, applying his medicines as ordered. Zarkan had contacted him once before leaving Earth for the ceremony as a guest. The doctor had inquired about his hearing and said he would bring materials for Spock to look over while honeymooning, if it was still necessary. He also wanted to check him once more before the ceremony, to which Spock agreed.

He had tried to meditate right after everyone had left, but found it too quiet. White noise had provided some form of focus and without it, concentration was difficult. All he had, with no one at home, were his own thoughts to listen to and he did not need to meditate for that.

Instead, he found himself wandering the house, going from room to room, remembering. He stood in front of the loom his mother used to make the beautiful tapestries that hung on many of the walls. He remembered helping her weave, threading the loom, fetching skeins of colored thread, setting the tensions, watching with fascination as she built a picture from one side of the tapestry to another.

The antique clock in one hallway had already been an heirloom when his mother brought it to Vulcan. He recalled his father lovingly polishing the clock, his hands gentle on the ancient wood. The child had wished his father had shown some of the same care for his living son. Spock kept the clock in working order and wound for when he knew he was going to be in residence. The ringing of the chimes reminded him of his mother.

There was still so much of Amanda in the house. Her tapestries, the desk she'd given to his father that Spock now used, the loom and the clock. He knew there was a cradle in storage he would take out when they were ready to have their first child. He would also bring to Earth the rocking chair his mother had used when he was a baby.

As he wandered, the memories fell on him like a Vulcan summer breeze and wrapped around him, easing his discomfort. A table here, a chair there, it was all as familiar to him as if today were yesterday. His wanderings took him to the garden behind the house that his mother had tended so lovingly. The plants were beginning to leaf and bloom and he remembered many of the ones his mother had planted, some of the original plants dead and gone now. In their place were the cuttings from those originals, in full health and well rooted.

It was in the garden that Spock had vented his feelings at his mother's death and solidified his distaste for the full immersion of Vulcan life. Sarek had been off planet when Amanda had died, on a diplomatic mission that any other ambassador could have handled so that he might have been with his wife instead. Amanda, who had been ill but not desperate, had sent Sarek off with her blessing, then taken a turn for the worse. Spock had tried to comfort her, but she had repeatedly asked for Sarek until her last breath. Spock had been with her and the blow had been hard. Here in the garden is where he'd broken down to weep for his mother, even then berating himself, for it was not the Vulcan way. Spock had attended his mother's memorial service at his father's side as a dutiful son, then walked away, as stiff necked as his father. It was a long time before they reconciled, though even then, Spock conceded that all they really had between them from that day on were their arguments.

In the long run, Sarek's death had been a blessing. He had been afflicted with Bendii syndrome, a form of Alzheimer's, and vacillated from calm to angry to piteous. Spock had not come to the funeral or service, had not put out the ashes in the fire pit on the family lands and had only the word of Jean Luc Picard that Sarek had truly mourned the loss of his son's affection. Until Picard had mind melded with Spock, the younger Vulcan had still believed the worse of his father. Once he forgave Sarek he was able to forgive himself.

He sat under the still living tree that Amanda had planted for her young son. Tend it well, she had admonished the boy, and it will give you years of pleasure. Until he'd left Vulcan for Starfleet, he'd followed her instructions daily, his first chore upon returning home from school. Amanda took care of it after he'd gone. When he'd reclaimed the property, Spock had hired the best gardener on Vulcan to manage the garden, especially his tree. It's trunk was so thick that even as an adult, he could not encompass its girth.

Leaning against it, he closed his eyes. He missed his mother, especially now. She would have loved Janeen. Her greatest desire was for her son to be happy. If she could have seen him now, she would have been thrilled for her only child. 'Mother,' he yearned, 'I wish you were here.' Foolish. He was an adult, too old to ache for his parent. Or so he believed.

Fanciful though it seemed, he believed for just a fleeting moment that he could feel his mother's presence, wrapping him in her love and warmth. He pulled it around him, taking a deep breath, letting it fill him with comfort.

He felt somnolent. Before he could begin to drift off and chance being found sleeping under a tree, he rose and went back into the house. It was still empty. He checked the chronometer on his way to the kitchen. They should have been home by now.

In the kitchen, he fixed himself a light meal and had a drink, standing by the sink to keep the room neat. After eating, he cleaned up any mess he had made before going to the comm unit to check for messages. A few had come in, none from Janeen. He stored them, cleared the writing screen and headed to the bedroom.

Toeing off his shoes, he stretched out on their bed. They had shared the same bed since that first night on the Ranger and no one was going to separate them. She gave him comfort at night in her touch, in her mind speak and in her love. She had been instrumental in helping him to deal with his deafness, to come to terms with it, to begin to accept it and learn to function as a deaf person. They worked every day on lip reading as David researched methods for aiding the deaf. She taught him Terran sign language, much to the chagrin of the others, who could not understand their simple words. He was getting used to his silent world, though he still would have chosen hearing over silence if given the chance. He had put the lyre out of sight and therefore out of mind, resolute on that one point.

He was angry. No amount of logic could rectify or redeem the fact that on the verge of a new life, he had been unjustly hit with a blow that was hard to take. He'd been running the gambit of emotions the last two weeks, from happy to despondent, joyful to angry, content to anxious. _V'tosh ka'tur _he'd been called, the emotional Vulcan. The appellation had been given to him after the incident with Vger, when he'd walked away from the final step of _Kohlinahr _to answer the summons of a living machine and discover the beginnings of his _c'thia_ in the probe's quest. He had certainly been living v'tosh ka'tur since the proposal.

His eyes closed again but he did not sleep. Laying quietly had its benefits as well, giving him an opportunity to ease into the memories he'd relived, absorb them and let them go, for the future was near now. The memories were back where they belonged he realized as he took a deep breath, relaxing into the mattress.

Loud voices brought him out of his light slumber and he wondered first at whom Janeen was so furious. Her angry footsteps echoed through the house as she went from one room to the patio doors to the outside, slamming the door closed.

Then he stopped for a moment. He could hear. Every noise, every sound, they came through as clear as a bell. His breathing, he could hear it. A bird in the garden singing, he could hear it. The soft shuffle of feet downstairs, he could hear it all. His breath caught in his chest as he filled with wonder, then it expelled in short bursts as though he'd just run a race. Raising his hands to his ears, he snapped his fingers to make sure his mind wasn't playing some trick, but he heard the sound they made. Unbidden tears welled in his eyes, elation overwhelming. He lay still for a few moments, savoring the joy. This was his moment and his moment alone. All of the sounds he'd missed washed over him. He reveled in the sound he made as he sat up, the soft swishing of the bed linens and the noise his feet made as he put his shoes back on and walked across the floor.

Finding everyone but the children and Janeen in the living room, he raised an eyebrow at them. Each was wearing a different degree of disgust and weariness on their face, holding glasses of a fruit drink to quench the thirst that plagued many human visitors to Vulcan. David gave him a wane smile.

"Where is Janeen?" he asked. Rough, coarse and raspy as a new file, hearing his own voice nearly made him giddy. No one voiced a reply, merely pointed to doors leading to the garden.

He found her far along the path, her back to him. Her body was rigid, tense, her hands curling into fists. Waves of emotion rolled off of her to hit him with the force of a phaser as he approached.

He put his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened at first then relaxed as she recognized his touch. "Janeen, what is wrong?"

'That prudish, tight-laced old biddy,' she thought. 'I swear, if she comes within five feet of me, no force on Vulcan will keep me from strangling her. Are you sure she has to be at our wedding?'

"Who?"

'T'Sar. She insists she has to see me this morning, then keeps me waiting all morning. Then she says she'll see me in the afternoon, but doesn't know exactly when, so stay close, real close, don't go anywhere. Finally after everyone has finished their shopping and is ready to leave, she sends someone to say I should go home and come back this evening. She had to have been raised by a zanthar, to be so inconsiderate and insensitive.'

"She is very busy…"

Janeen swung around to face him, incredulity and fire in her eyes. 'Don't you dare go defending her to me. She left me hanging all damned day. She wouldn't even give a hint as to why she _absolutely _had to see me.' A smile played on his lips. He loved it when her eyes blazed in passion, the dark blue turning violet, the pupils wide with emotion. A differing kind of passion would be filling those eyes very soon.

Seeing the amusement and thinking it was directed at her, she shook her fists at him. "Arrgg," she grated, at a loss for words and turned away. Going over to a bush, she started to pull at one of the delicate yellow flowers, then changed her mind. It was senseless to take her anger out on such a beautiful and innocent flower.

"Stubborn, pig-headed, obstinate…" she mumbled softly.

"Vulcan?" he finished.

With all of her anger draining out of her at once, she faced him. "No, yes…" she replied then stopped, staring at him in wonder. Her jaw dropped. "You heard me?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Yes."

"You heard me," she repeated, going to him and reaching out to touch his ears in disbelief. "When?"

He took her hands into his. "I do not know. I did not realize until I heard your voice when you returned in anger."

Crying openly in joy, she flung herself at him and he held her tightly, his tears falling as they embraced. They savored the joy together until he gently released her, letting her slide to the ground. His hands he placed on either side of her head, stroking her hair. "I love you."

She wiped the moisture from his face with her fingers. "I love you," she replied, punctuating it with a kiss. "Is it all back?" she asked.

"I do not know."

Now her eyes turned sultry. She took three steps away from him, staying him with a hand when he made to follow. "Can you hear me?" she asked sotto voice.

"Yes."

She moved further away. "Can you hear me?" she asked again.

An eyebrow raised, his head tilted slightly. "Yes."

"Then see if you can catch me," she challenged, darting into the garden.

She lead him on a merry chase, taunting him, calling out his name, giggling as he neared and she slipped away. It was the best hearing test he'd ever taken.

She slid through the doors into the house, closing the door with a thump, raising her finger to shush the adults still seated as she passed, giggling. They exchanged looks with each other. Whatever had happened in the garden, Spock should consider bottling it, since he had turned her mood around so quickly.

Gary shot his wife an accusatory look but she merely shrugged. She hadn't any more clue than he. And anyway, she was his daughter as well. Why was this her fault?

They turned their heads as one when Spock entered, bemused expressions on their faces. He straightened in Vulcan dignity, clasping his hands behind his back. He felt certain he knew where she'd gone, but would ask anyway. His friends had to find out sooner or later.

"Janeen?" Four sets of fingers pointed towards the bedroom area of the house. A single delicate eyebrow raised. No one was fooled, especially when he said, "Do not wait dinner on us."

David, Carolyn and Gary grinned foolishly. Elizabeth was the ever practical one. "But she has an appointment this evening." Her voice trailed off as she remembered.

Spock continued in the direction of the bedrooms, his back pointedly in full view of the others. "She will be unavoidably detained," he replied.

David shot out of his chair. "Wait!" he ordered. Spock stopped, mid-step. David went up to face him, searching, then his eyes lit up in unabashed pleasure. "Son of a bitch," he said slowly, grinning. "You've got your hearing back."

He knew by the responding pleasure in the Vulcan's eyes that it was true before Spock took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "Yes. And my parents were quite married when I was born."

He was surrounded then by the others, all murmuring at once in happiness, their voices both beautiful and deafening. He held his hands up for quiet. "We will talk later. I have other concerns right now." He started back to the bedrooms.

"Just get up in time for breakfast," Gary yelled after him, getting a rise of laughter from everyone else.

"What took so long?" Janeen asked as he closed and locked the door behind him.

"I was momentarily delayed when the others found out I had regained my hearing. But we are alone now, and there is no where else for you to run." He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. There would be time to pick it up later.

"I know,' she said softly, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing into him.

"I must confess, C'thanae, I have lied to you."

"What do you mean?" He worked at the buttons on her blouse.

"When I thought I could live without my hearing, I was lying, to you and to myself. I could no more be content being deaf than I could without air to breathe. In that moment when I realized I could hear, I also knew I wanted to hear. I wanted it for you, for my career, for our children. More than that, I wanted it for myself."

"I know that," she said gently. "But it was something you had to discover on your own. Otherwise it would have destroyed you." She caressed his back. "I'm so glad you got your hearing back." Her blouse joined his shirt on the floor.

"As am I." He raised her face to see her eyes. "Janeen Alexandra, you are the mistress of my heart, my lover, my friend. Will you walk with me through whatever time this existence grants us, share my life with me and let me share mine with you? Will you be the mother of my children? Will you let me do all within my power to fulfill your dreams? And will you let me love you for as long as I have left in this life?"

"With all my heart, and all my love."


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: Still jumping around, remembering his time with Janeen, but now we're getting onto the right track.**_

David huffed in exasperation. "This is useless," he muttered, slumping back into his chair. "We've watched this forward, backward, upside down and right side up. There's nothing here."

Spock also leaned back into his chair, an elbow on the arm, his fingers toying at his lips.

He, St'van, and David had been moved to a larger room, provided a work station and given food. The tricorder had arrived soon after David and St'van had satisfied their appetites. Spock had tried to eat, but found he had little interest in food, nibbling at his plate enough to allay David's watchful eye. By the time they had exhausted their search, he had managed to take relatively little in the way of nourishment.

For the last three hours, without a break, they'd been viewing the records. On the Arkansas, Tremaine, his chief engineer and entire science department had also reviewed the recording and concluded a half hour ago that nothing out of the ordinary had happened on the trip.

Spock was puzzled. He'd been so sure - he'd been in alternate universes before. He had first hand knowledge. He couldn't understand how he had missed this, but missed it he had.

He straightened, dropping his hand. "You are correct," he conceded. "There is nothing here." Reaching out, he shut off the tricorder. Grabbing his tea cup he rose, going over to the sideboard. He refilled his cup from the carafe that held saya.

"Now what?" David asked, watching the Vulcan as he poured his tea.

"We look for another answer," St'van replied hopefully.

Spock ignored them both, taking his tea and going to one of the three beds. He was deep in thought and exhaustion. Sitting, he sipped at his tea.

There was an answer, there had to be. Thirty years he'd devoted to Starfleet. Several lifetimes worth of science and experience should give him the ability to figure this out. He'd catalogued so much in that time, experienced more than the average person. Many of the discoveries they had made on the Enterprise had made scientific history, some of them credited to him. But what was it, what was he overlooking? From planet to planet, peoples to peoples, how was this familiar, what was the similarity?

He was so tired, physically and mentally. He desperately wanted to know how Janeen had died, yet that knowledge would put a seal on her loss. For four hours, since he'd regained consciousness, he'd only thought of her at least once a minute.

But he couldn't mourn, couldn't give in to the overwhelming need to cry, to scream in rage at the unfairness of it all. How could he have survived all of those missions to find the one woman in the galaxy who suited him only to lose her so soon?

He wanted no more - no more traveling, no more negotiating, no more pain and no more sorrow. He wanted no more loss. His friends, his shipmates from all of those years on the Enterprise, all gone now. Kirk, McCoy, even Scotty, returned from limbo not so long ago, gone now as well. The time had come to rest. To leave the Federation and try to find peace with whatever time he had left.

Spock set his cup on a nearby table and lay back with a sigh. He was so tired.

If only he could forget, if even for a little while. He needed sleep, dreamless sleep, just a few hours' worth. Then he would be able - willing - to try tackling this problem again.

Throwing himself into his work had helped Kirk all those years ago. The Captain had fallen so deeply in love with the beautiful but doomed Edith Keeler. Her death, or more correctly, Jim's preventing McCoy from saving her, had nearly torn Kirk apart. The Enterprise, his one true love, had given him the gift of forgetting when they'd returned to their own time.

Spock jackknifed into a sitting position. "Time," he said with awe.

"What?" David asked.

"We are not in an alternate universe. There has been a change in history."

"How can a change…" St'van began.

Spock rose and went to the desk. Taking a piece of paper and a stylus, he drew two parallel lines across the top of the page, then two more slightly more than halfway down the page. The top line he marked with an 'A.' The second one he marked with a 'B,' then did the same for the two lines further down.

"In an alternate universe, both timelines run parallel to each other, but somewhere along one parallel a door opens, allowing passage from one to the other." He cut the top line with a mark connecting them both, highlighting it with an arrow in the downward direction. Beyond where he'd sliced the lines, he drew arrows towards the edge of the paper. "Both timelines continue as they should, but one now has a 'visitor,' so to speak."

On the other set of lines, he slashed the two in half as above and drew an arrow from one to the other, but this time he scratched through the remaining A line beyond the cut and through the beginning B line before the cut. "When there has been a change in time, one timeline is extinguished in favor of the new directive in the new timeline, which never existed until the change."

"When I was on the Enterprise, we had been assigned to monitor a phenomenon of time wave distortion. Through a series of unfortunate accidents, Dr. McCoy went back in time, into Earth's history. He saved a woman who had been destined instead to die. Her survival changed Earth's history, everything we knew disappeared. Capt. Kirk and I had to follow McCoy. We had to allow that woman to die. And when she did, everything returned to what we knew." He rose, looking to his friends.

"One person can change history. The presence of someone from the future can make a difference, manipulate history for whatever reason, with or without a personal agenda. They can allow someone to live or kill someone before their time. Removing someone from the past can change the future if that person is destined to have a profound influence on the future in some way. A simple act, or lack of one, can change the future for all of us."

David paced for a moment, thoughtful. "If that's true, and everything around us changed, how is it then that we still exist? Shouldn't we have disappeared…popped out… as well?"

"There are two possibilities to answer that. One is that any change that occurs in the past is instantaneously felt in the future. The other is that time changes flow out in waves, like a pebble dropped into a pool of still water. I would tend towards the second theory, since we are here to discuss the possibilities. We were also in warp drive, it may have protected us from the effects of the changes since warp drive distorts the space time continuum."

"My god, Spock, where do we start? There're a thousand planets out there…."

"Earth," he answered, interrupting. "Solare told me that Vulcan has been monitoring Earth for three hundred years. That is how they know that humans have yet to achieve space flight. Something has kept Earth from the progress with which we are familiar.

"It is safe to assume that the historical records on the Arkansas were not affected. If we can compare them to what the Vulcans have observed, we should be able to find out how and possibly when history changed. Then we must convince the Vulcans to allow us to return to our ship so we can correct the change to return things to the way we know."

"I assume you know, then, how to do this time travel?"

"Yes. I have experienced time travel several times and in several ways during my assignment with the Enterprise. I must consider the possibilities, without revealing any of them to these Vulcans, for they may not have any knowledge of time travel."

"So, how do you time travel?"

Spock perused their surroundings. "I would rather not discuss it here. We may not be alone in this room."

"You think the Vulcans might be listening in?"

"I would not be surprised if they were. Remember, David, we are an unknown entity to them. Where have we come from and what is our purpose? They can not trust in what they do not know. It is logical to be suspicious and take precautions." He rolled the piece of paper into a ball and tossed it in the recycling bin. "We had best spend our time not speculating on how to time travel, but finding proof that it has happened, and when."


	13. Chapter 13

**_A/N: I want to thank all of you who are reading the story and leaving reviews. The greatest delight I have is logging onto my email and finding REVIEWS! Yahoo! Don't worry, it's coming to the denouement real soon. ps: (Chapter 12) it's not the time travel he won't talk about, it's the way to do it he's hesitant about revealing to the Vulcans._**

There was a cool breeze blowing through the window in the bedroom. The scream of a lematya in the distance woke Spock, years of ingrained teaching making him more sensitive to the various cries and noises of the wildlife that lived near the estate. The creature was on the prowl and from the sound of the roar, frustrated at not being able to catch its prey.

He rolled away from Janeen and slipped from the covers, going to the window to watch the night progress. The desert and Vulcan's Forge stretched out from the boundaries of the gardens. Beyond them, the lights from Shi Kahr city softly glowed into the night.

He loved this planet - its ancient cities and ruins; the magnificent mountains and intensive deserts; the wild animals, most of which were fatally poisonous in both tooth and claw. He had grown up here, explored here, crawled through every nook and cranny close to the house that he could before his mother would scold him and take him back to the safety of their home. He loved its heat and as well as the snow on the highest peaks of the mountains: such a contradiction. So many humans would never learn of the full beauty of his home world, ready to accept at face value the stories they heard about this place he called home. But it was entrenched in him, in his blood and in his soul. If he had only been more accepted for his ancestry, he might not have ever left.

The breeze blew softly through the window, chilling his skin. He padded to the bed and grabbed his robe, shrugging into it. He would not need slippers. Slipping out the door, he walked quietly and confidently through the house to the garden to seek out his favorite spot to look out over the landscape.

It was already occupied. As he neared, he discovered that Gary had shared the same idea and was standing against the wall, silently observing. "Gary," he said softly, not wanting to frighten the man.

Gary straightened. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I might ask the same of you."

"Restless, new place, still a little jet lagged." He took a deep breath. "I'm assuming that was one of those lamatyas a few minutes ago that you warned us about ?"

"They come down from the mountains, mostly at night, to hunt closer to the desert."

"But they're not strictly nocturnal."

"That is correct. A hungry lamatya will hunt at any time, and they do not discriminate in their choice of prey. If you wish, David or I can take you for a day hike before the wedding. We are both well versed in surviving the Forge."

"I would. Yes, thank you," he accepted. "This is probably one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen. I'll have to get Elizabeth out here tomorrow night."

"Just do not venture beyond the house perimeter."

"No, I'll remember that. You must have given your mother any number of scares as a boy."

"I grew up here, I know these mountains and trails very well. But you are right, my mother was protective, at first. However, I had I-Chaya with me when I **became slightly older."**

"I-Chaya? Who was that?"

"I-Chaya was my pet, a _sehlat_. They look like your Earth bears and can be quite formidable when defending their charges."

"So you had a very, very, _very_ big dog."

"Yes."

Gary chuckled. "Somehow, I just can't picture you as a little boy running around with a dog at your heels."

"For a short time, I was a never ending source of distraction to my father."

"Yes, I heard about your father. Who hasn't? And Janeen filled in a few details. Shame."

"We had really only one disagreement. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I needed to find my own way."

"And you were both stubborn."

"In that, at least, I am most like Sarek."

Gary leaned against the wall, his arms folded on the shelf. "You know, when I first met you, I had my doubts about any kind of relationship between you and Janeen. I mean, after everything I'd heard about Vulcans, I didn't think you'd be right for her."

"I wondered about that myself, in the beginning. I had lived alone for too long, my life too sovereign, and I thought myself satisfied." He paused, staring out over the landscape. "Little did I know," he murmured softly. "I have not had any doubts since the night when I proposed. She completes me."

"I've watched you two together, I can see that. And that's the way it happens when the right person comes along. You suddenly realize your life is empty - you're empty - when you thought you had the world in the palm of your hand. Nothing that brought you up to that point means as much as being with that person. It changes your life, it makes you a better person, or it can tear you apart. Janeen might be your wife, but she's my girl, she will always be my daughter. Only Elizabeth comes before her."

"It is as I feel about Janeen. There is none more important than her."

"I had been concerned about your age difference. You're old enough to be her father."

"Gary," Spock reminded gently, "I am old enough to be your father, if we are speaking in human years. But, I am middle aged for a Vulcan."

"You're also half human."

"And I can not expect to live a full Vulcan lifespan because of it. Yet now is a good time in my life to marry. Janeen and I are of an age. I will have someone with whom to grow old, instead of outlive."

"I figured that out a day or so ago, and I'm happy for you. I don't think I would have given my blessing if you were closer in human years."

"Why?"

Gary was silent for a moment, watching over the vista. "To grow old while your husband remains, for all intents and purposes, young. To know that he could take another wife after you're gone…I wouldn't want that for my child. I saw your father married after your mother's death."

Spock merely nodded. He would not go into Vulcan biology with his father in law before he had a chance to discuss it with his wife. But Sarek had remarried, he had had to take a wife since he still experienced _pon farr _after Spock's mother had died. That he had chosen a human, a second time, had stunned Spock and put a stamp on Spock's decision. Twice, Sarek had taken a human woman to wife, yet he denied that part in Amanda's only son. Leaving Vulcan had been the right choice.

And yet, in another way, Spock was following in his father's footsteps. Though this time, here, it would end. "I will not get into my father's reasons for taking another wife. Know this Gary, were I to outlive Janeen, I would not remarry. She is my c'thanae, my true life." Spock turned his eyes to the desert and Forge, watching as the sun began to lighten the sky. Below, the sands and rocks were taking on a deep, rich, purple hue that would redden as the sun rose.

This was so different from the sunrises on Earth. There they were blue and green, cool and moist. He had come to appreciate sunrises on Earth, but in his mind, they would never equal the ones of Vulcan. He scanned the skies, then pointed out to the distance. "Gary, look."

In the sky not too far away over the desert, coming down from the mountains, a _teresh-kah _glided on the updrafts, its wings spread wide as it drifted over the desert in search of prey.

"What is that?" Gary asked.

"A _teresh-kah_, a silver bird. They sleep in the mountains at night and come out at sunrise. Once the sun is well up and the heat builds, they tend to return to a cooler elevation." The bird twisted in the rising light and caught a ray with the top of its body. Brilliant silver reflected from the feathers, a momentary sparkle beaming back to the sky. A second bird appeared and the two men were treated to a show as the birds flew together, spiraling and turning, gliding along the surface of the desert sands only to rise straight up and repeat the entire aerial dance. Their bodies mirrored the sun as they twisted and swayed, their wing tips passing close to each other as though touching before they would spin away to circle around again.

"They must be a mated pair," Spock decided.

"They're beautiful." Gary shoved his hands into his pockets. "You have a beautiful home, Spock."

"Thank you, Gary."

"I would like to know what this is all about."

"This?"

"This house, they way you've been treated. I know you're well respected, but…"

Spock closed his hands over his waist with a deep breath. "My family is very old. We can trace our ancestry back to the time of Surak. I am a direct descendent of Surak."

"You're kidding."

"I do not kid. Nor do I boast. I am what I am. My family is one of the ruling families of Vulcan. I do not ask for the way I am treated. It is given to me by inheritance." He turned his gaze back to the desert. "I am content as ambassador, but I hold what is mine for my children, when they come."

Gary stole a look at the Vulcan as the other continued to watch the _teresh-kah _moving further into the distance until they were merely spots moving across the sky. He really had had his doubts about this man. The newsvids had not been kind to his daughter when her picture appeared the morning after the Federation Ball and Gary had been furious at the pictures' insulting captions. So when the couple had appeared two mornings later, he had not been receptive to the Vulcan, even after finding out they were engaged. He had seen how other men had treated his daughter and held her when she had had her heart broken by those men. Both he and Elizabeth had tried to convince her to come back, if not to her childhood home, then at least to Seattle. Gary had wondered what the ambassador had seen in his daughter, this famous man tying himself to his child. An extraordinary child, of course, but still his child.

He remembered her as a baby, toddling around their house, exploring everything, driving Elizabeth slightly crazy in trying to keep up. His wife had, in a moment of inspiration, placed the girl in front of an instrument and she had taken off from there. Janeen appeared to have a natural gift that they encouraged.

When she had expressed an interest in teaching as opposed to a career in music, the parents had been surprised, but their philosophy had always been to let their child follow her dreams. Gary and Elizabeth had been extremely pleased when Janeen had landed the position with the Pax Academy in San Fransisco, close to home, but far enough away to give her the freedom she sought.

Janeen had discriminating tastes. In the city, close to the Starfleet Academy, it had become a given that she would run into the cadets and some of them would express an interest in the young, beautiful teacher. She had also had her fair share of admirers among the family members of her students. In the ten years she had been a teacher, several had tried to lure her away, some with not so up and up desires. Her naiveté had made her vulnerable in the beginning, then her experience had turned her into a wiser and more discriminating woman.

So Gary had listened to the two people when they'd visited and watched even closer. Then he'd taken the Vulcan for a walk and the two had had a very in-depth conversation. He'd not said anything when they'd returned, but he had never said another word either against or cautionary about the relationship. His daughter was in love, and he believed the Vulcan loved her in return. That had only been confirmed as time passed.

The two men stood here together, both of them loving the same woman in much different ways, both protective of that woman. Gary had to accept that he had to release Janeen into the care of this man and trust that he would take care of her for the rest of her life.

"I never told you, but you have my blessing for your marriage."

"I thank you, Gary. It is gratifying to know there will be no animosity between us. You have welcomed me like a son, for which I am also grateful."

Gary pulled at his earlobe a moment. "Well, it's a strange kind of son in law, as you just reminded me, but you make her happy. That's what's important. I'm glad she found you." He tucked his hands into his shirt sleeves, chilled by the early morning breeze. "I'm going back in. Don't stay out too much longer," he advised, looking pointedly at Spock's bare feet. "After what you've been through recently, you catch a chill and Janeen will never forgive you."

"Indeed," Spock agreed. "I shall be in shortly."

Janeen stirred as he slipped back between the sheets, pulling her feet away from his cold toes as he wrapped himself around her. He settled her buttocks against his groin, his reaction predictable, but tamped for now. His hand slid under her breast, palming it, curling around its fullness. She sighed.

"Where were you?" Her voice was barely a whisper, sleep softened.

"On the patio, watching the sunrise." He placed a kiss on her nape. "Your father has given his blessing on our marriage."

"That's good," she murmured.

He lifted himself up so he could lean over her slightly. "I am selfish," he admitted. "Have I thanked you for all that you are giving me?"

"I don't understand." She twisted slightly to better see him.

"You are giving me a mother and father again. You have given me yourself, and a future. You have given me love. How can I thank you?"

Palming his cheek, she smiled. "You just did."


	14. Chapter 14

"_**You see I'd like to share my life with you, show you things I've seen. Places that I'm going to, places where I've been. To have you there beside me and never be alone, and all the time that you're with me, we will be at home. Follow me where I go, what I do and who I know, make it part of you to be a part of me. Follow me up and down, all the way and all around, take my hand and I will follow you." John Denver, 'Follow Me'**_

**_

* * *

_**

David wrapped the sash around Spock's waist, tying it in the front so that a good foot long length draped along his left hip. He gave it one last tug to straighten it then backed off a few steps. "This is the first time I've seen you truly look the part."

"Part of what?" Spock asked as he turned to peruse himself in the mirror. He pulled at his tunic until he was satisfied at his appearance.

"Royalty."

Spock wore a snow white undershirt under a tunic of brilliant gold shot through with silver glyphs and edging, a black sash tied around his waist. Down the right side of the tunic the Vulcan glyphs were stitched, his name, family clan and position within the clan. They disappeared under the sash. He had drawn on pitch black trousers and black shoes. Above his left breast was the IDIC pin. Next to it he had pinned his Five Star Cluster Award, its diamonds polished and gleaming.

Spock faced his friend and best man. The Commander was in his dress uniform, white jacket and gray shirt, black trousers, all with gold piping. His rank insignia was pinned to the collar. There were four medals attached to the tunic. A delicate Vulcan eyebrow rose in question. "Well, I've known about your family ties for several years now, but you've never vaunted it. It's about time you took some advantage of your position and make this the best day of your life." He nodded to the reflection. "You look both elegant and commanding, as a person of your rank should."

Spock checked his image again. David was right. His dress was elegant, royal, and yet his stance was authoritative and decisive. He approved of his appearance and knew Janeen would as well. This was their wedding after all. He wanted to look his best for his bride.

There was a knock at the entrance door to the hotel room. Spock and David had been chased out last night, superstition and all of that illogical nonsense about not seeing the bride in her dress right before the ceremony. They had moved to a hotel room already booked by her parents for the occasion to spend the night in quiet companionship. No bachelor parties for this groom - he would not have condoned it.

In the morning, they had eaten a leisurely breakfast before getting dressed for the wedding, David making sure that Spock was perfectly groomed. Spock and the rest of the guests would arrive at the wedding site before Janeen and her entourage.

"I'll get the door," David offered. "Stop fiddling with your shirt, you look sharp."

He let Dr. Zarkan into the room. The doctor was already in his dress uniform and held a tricorder in his hand. "Commander," the physician greeted.

"Doctor. Hang on, I'll get Spock." He disappeared into one of the two bedrooms, returning a moment later with the Vulcan on his heels. Zarkan's expression changed to one of surprise at and admiration for the ambassador, never having seen him so elegantly dressed. He offered the other a bow of respect. "Ambassador."

"Doctor Zarkan. _Asal rom_. Welcome to Vulcan."

Zarkan pointed to one of his ears. "Hearing?" he asked.

"It has returned, Doctor."

Zarkan's face broke into a smile. "When?"

"Three days ago."

"Have a seat, let me look." Spock settled on one of the chairs as the physician took a feinberger from his tricorder, turning it on. He ran a scan then checked it through the tricorder, nodding in satisfaction. "Fantastic! The swelling is completely gone, no infection at all present. Nerves appear totally normal. When you come back from your honeymoon, I'll want to see you in my office." He shut off the instrument and gave Spock a delighted smile. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. I am greatly relieved in that my hearing has been restored."

"I would imagine so."

"We have about a half hour before we have to leave," David reminded Spock.

"I am aware, thank you, David." He turned to the doctor. "Will you walk with us when we leave?"

"I'd be honored, sir."

David went to the food processor and called up two glasses of water and a dish of granola. He handed one of the glasses to the doctor, the dish to Spock. "Then you'll need this. It's quite a walk and it is hot out."

"Janeen walking it too?"

"It is traditional." Spock picked a portion from the granola, knowing it would be a while before he had a chance to eat again, then offered the dish to the others.

"I assume then that everyone who needs it is up on their tri-ox injections?"

"You may be assured that I have reminded everyone."

Zarkan sat down, his water in hand. He'd had no idea. As much as he'd worked with Vulcans, he'd little experience with Vulcan ceremonies. Zarkan didn't know the half of it, but he soon found out as he entered the sands of _koon-ut_.

This was the epitome of ceremonies. This was not Spock, of Starfleet, nor a near newly fledged diplomat, but Spock of Vulcan, of one of the oldest families on Vulcan, of one of the ruling families of Vulcan; a Federation ambassador of highest regard. As such, the complement of guests reflected the position he had earned and held. No minor officers were here today as had been the last time. Today, he was surrounded by Federation President A Halil, Federation Council Members and Ministers, High Priests of Gol, high ranking dignitaries of the Vulcan High Council, and by no less than five Starfleet _Sovereign _class starship Captains, their ships in synchronized orbit about Vulcan. Security guards, both Vulcan and human, surrounded the arena.

One man he remembered from nearly nineteen years ago approached and he bowed his head as the officer neared. "Captain," he greeted softly.

"Ambassador," Picard returned with a nod of his own head. His dress uniform was pressed to perfection, his service medals gleaming in the Vulcan sunshine. "My heartiest congratulations on this day."

"If I recall, you were also in attendance at my last time here."

"I was, Sir, a young officer, and quite star struck to be included in such a prestigious event." Picard dared to glance around at the guests. "It would appear we have both come up in the world."

"Indeed," Spock agreed. "I did not properly thank you for the service you tendered when you came to me on Romulus. You gave back to me a part of my father I had thought lost."

"He loved you, Ambassador, as any father would love his son. I think he would be extremely proud of what you have become and what you do today."

"Perhaps, though Sarek might have required a great deal of convincing before giving his final approval."

"However, there is precedence for your choice, is there not, Ambassador? How could Sarek have logically disagreed with your decision to marry an Earth woman without nullifying his own life?"

Spock nodded. "It would have made for an…interesting…discussion, Captain." Movement beyond the officer caught his eye and he straightened just a little more at the figure that was making its way towards him, the crowd parting in respect as much as in awe. Picard stepped to the side as Leonard McCoy, a little more stooped of shoulder but with eyes as bright as ever, came to a halt in front of the Vulcan.

With a mischievous glint, he reached into a pocket and withdrew a hypospray. Spock actually found it within himself to smile at the gesture before giving a shake of his head.

"That will not be necessary, Doctor."

"Never hurts to be prepared, now does it, Spock?" the doctor asked, his accent more Southern than it had been years ago.

"There will be no challenge today. There will be no combat or blood spilt on these sands. This is not a betrothal, but a wedding."

McCoy pocketed the hypo. "All the better, someone to tether you to the ground for awhile."

"For awhile. She has resigned her teaching position in order to accompany me on missions."

"I hope you plan on a honeymoon this time," he grumbled. The last time they had been here, after the ceremony, Spock and Saavik had returned to their individual pursuits to wait for the time when _pon farr _would bring them together. It had taken fifteen years for that to happen. The length of that time had convinced Spock, after the fire had burned itself out, that the union had not been in the best of interests for either one of them. Through the _rel-san-vek_, they had dissolved it and parted amicably.

"Yes, but those plans are secret for the time being."

"Secret? Whatever for?"

"Look around you, Doctor. My reputation precedes me wherever I go. If my wife and I are to have the time needed to adjust to married life and the marriage bond, then we must keep our plans, as you say, close to the vest, for the time being."

Spock's gaze drifted off for a second, his once again sharp Vulcan hearing detecting that which none of the humans could hear. He asked his pardon with a brief nod to his companions. In but three steps, he mounted the platform in the center of the area, lightly plucking the mallet that hanged from its post. With a deft swing, he struck the heavy gong next to the post, then struck it again. The instrument had finally been replaced several years ago, the metal polished to a high gloss shine, the edges etched in Vulcan hieroglyphs.

Spock stood by the chime, waiting, as all of the guests turned towards one entrance to the sands. Tensions were high, the excitement palpable.

Within minutes, the tingling of hundreds of bells broke the silence that had fallen over the crowd, growing louder as the wedding party approached. First through the doorway were the bell ringers, four of them, each holding an ornate _systra_ instrument with dozens of bells strung in rows up and down across the interior of the frame. Two guards, heavy set males wearing thick surcoats and breastplates followed, carrying the traditional weapon of Vulcan, the _lirpa. _There would be no need for them today, as Spock had indicated, but tradition was tradition and it was followed, for the most part, to the letter on Vulcan.

Once more, Spock raised the mallet and struck the gong, only for his action to be answered by the ringing bells as through the doorway came his bride.

She was radiant, there was no other word to describe her. She wore a gown of brilliant white, nontraditional to his world, but centuries held in hers. Her hair flowed, golden honey down her back in waves that curled softly at the ends. She kept her eyes downcast, but for the brief second she glanced up to find her groom. Her eyes glittered like those of any Vulcan in the throes of _plak tow_, but it was with the excitement of a dream being fulfilled that caused their radiance.

Spock replaced the mallet in its holder and walked to the front of the arena, where T'Sar already waited. He joined his bride to stand before a set of thickly padded cushions on the ground. In magnificent robes of muted brown colors, T'Sar was a high priestess of Gol and would preside over the Vulcan part of the ceremony. Commander David McFey took a position next to his friend as Amanda McFey, with all of the dignity an eight year old could muster, waited next to Janeen Simmons, Spock's bride. Bride and groom stood, side by side, waiting. Many of the guests shuffled closer to hear the proceedings.

"My God," McCoy whispered, "she's absolutely stunning."

"I've never seen anyone more beautiful," Picard agreed.

"I should have known he'd find the most gorgeous creature in the galaxy to take to wife," the doctor grumbled affectionately.

"Did you have any doubts, Doctor?" the captain asked.

"I wonder where he found her," McCoy sighed.

Together, Spock and Janeen knelt on the cushions before T'Sar, his hand reaching out to take hers. He would have never done that before, McCoy realized with surprise. This would be different from everything he had known about the Vulcan from the past. T'Sar raised her hands to her sides, palms up.

"As it was in the beginning, as it is today, as it shall be for all time," she intoned. "This is the Vulcan heart, this is the Vulcan way. Spock, thou hast come here to take this female as thy life mate and wife, forever joined in the _ek'wak farr_. Dost thou pledge to her thy honor and protection, holding her an equal in thy sight, until death shall part thee forever?"

"_Ugau nash-veh_," he answered. _I pledge_.

"Janeen, thou hast come here to take this male as thy life mate and husband, forever joined in the _ek'wak farr_. Dost thou pledge to him thy honor and protection, holding him an equal in thy sight, until death shall part thee forever?"

"_Ugau nash-veh_."

T'Sar looked out over the assemblage. "This male and this female have come here to join with each other as life mate and spouse in the _ek'wak farr_. They have pledged to honor and protect each other and hold each as equals in their sight. Wilt this assemblage pledge to aid them as they begin their life journey until death shall part them?"

Together the guests answered, "_Ugau etek_." _We pledge_.

With one hand to each of them at their temples, T'Sar bowed her head to set the marriage bond that would keep them connected forever, aware of each other no matter the distance. The Vulcans in the group also bowed their heads to lend their aid in the bonding as the humans watched, quiet and attentive during the mystical working. Most of them did not understand the process, but they all respected it for what it was.

Janeen swayed slightly under the assault of the powerful mind that linked her mind with that her husband's, and his hand rose up to grab her arm to steady her. "Thy bond is already strong," T'Sar murmured through her concentration, never breaking the link until the bond was set. She smiled a slight smile as she lowered her hands to her side, her approval obvious. She had not known that Spock and Janeen had already had this unusual connection. This was a true union and she better understood his choice of woman much more now.

"Can you continue?" Spock asked, his voice for her ears only.

"I'm fine," she answered just as softly. Nonetheless, he kept a hand on her arm for support. Vulcan was hot, especially this time of year, no doubt she was feeling the effects of the heat despite the fans that were scattered around the arena in consideration for their nonVulcan guests.

A young priest of Gol approached T'Sar, a goblet in his hands that was covered with a white cloth. Passing to goblet to her, he pulled the cloth from it as she took it, holding the goblet for the barest of moments, her eyes closed in silent blessing. She offered the goblet to Spock, who passed it to Janeen. The wine within was rare, old and valued, sweet to the taste and heady when overly imbibed. She took but a sip from the cup before handing it back to Spock. With his eyes on her, he turned the goblet before touching it to his lips, taking a long pull from the spot still moist from where she had touched with her lips. A soft exclamation went up from the audience, the gesture unusual in a Vulcan ceremony, but a gesture he gave to her nonetheless despite tradition. After his drink, he returned the cup to T'Sar.

T'Sar stepped to the side as Federation President Joachim A Halil came onto the platform. He bowed before the couple, his smile genuine, his pleasure to be a part of this ceremony evident.

"For as long as man has explored the heavens, meeting new peoples and new worlds, the office of the President of the Federation has had the pleasure of being granted the right to preside over wedding ceremonies, to unite different peoples and different cultures. It is with the greatest honor that I stand here to perform this rite today.

"Spock, you come here today to wed Janeen, to have her as your wife and lover. Do you promise to honor her and comfort her, to be with her in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, to hold her dreams and aspirations as though your own, so long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"Janeen, you come here today to wed Spock, to have him as your husband and lover. Do you promise to honor him and comfort him, to be with him in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, to hold his dreams and aspirations as though your own, so long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"It is an Earth tradition to exchange rings as a visible token of these promises. Who has the rings?"

"I do,' David indicated, taking them from a pocket in his dress uniform tunic. He passed them to A Halil. The President took the smaller ring and gave it to Spock. "Repeat after me, please."

"I, Spock, give this ring, in token and pledge of my promises made here today, to honor you as my wife, my helpmate and lover, as long as I live."

Then it was Janeen's turn. "I, Janeen, give this ring, in token and pledge of my promises made here today, to honor you as my husband, my helpmate and lover, as long as I live." She slid the ring onto his finger, giving his hand a caress and him a smile. Spock rose to his feet and with his hand still on her arm, help Janeen to stand as well.

T'Sar came to stand next to A Halil. "Let it be known throughout the galaxy that on the twelfth day of re'T'Khutai, Spock and Janeen are made husband and wife according to the laws of Vulcan."

"And of the Federation," A Halil continued. "Let us rejoice in their union and help them as they take this journey together." There was a wicked gleam in a Halil's eye, a dare. "You may kiss your bride if you so wish," he said softly to Spock.

Spock faced her, lifting his right hand, two fingers paired, the other two folded. She matched him in the acceptable Vulcan kiss, but then he surprised her by taking her other hand into his free one. Her eyes widened as he leaned his head down, tilting it slightly. She rose onto her toes to meet him halfway as they kissed according to her heritage. This was a marriage between two cultures and he wanted to make that point clear from the very beginning. She settled back on her heels. "I love you,' he whispered.

"I love you," she responded. Together, they faced their guests, who had begun a soft applause in approval and congratulations.

Above, the starships, whose crews had witnessed the ceremony via vidcast, set off a synchronized fireworks display in honor of the couple's nuptials, a dazzling set of round after round of explosives that lit up the already bright Vulcan day. It could be seen over near one-third of the planet.

The reception was held in a large underground theater where the air conditioning was more comfortable for many of the guests. As Janeen danced with her father, a captain in Starfleet, Spock stood to the side to watch, already having danced with his new mother-in-law. McCoy placed a hand on his shoulder, one of the few people present unafraid to touch this particular Vulcan.

"Congratulations, again, my friend," he said.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"So, tell me, do you remember Gem?"

"The empath? Of course."

"I think you've found someone to far outshine even that young lady. What I'd like to know is, where?"

"In San Fransisco, in the Old Market. She was a teacher on her way back to her school, I was trying to solve a problem. I often find the environment of the Old Market relaxing when I am in a…quandary about something. She was knocked into me from behind and we fell, she on top of me."

"And that was enough to get you to propose?"

Spock looked down at his old friend, remembering all of the times they had argued over his mixed heritage and about his society's culture. Spock took a deep breath. "Do you remember telling me that I was afraid to feel, that I had no heart?"

"I do, and if you recall, I've since amended that statement."

"When I looked into her eyes, Doctor, I found my soul." There was surprise in McCoy's eyes at the statement. "I could not ignore that, nor pass it over. We are one, in every way."

McCoy sighed a long, tiring sigh. "I wish Jim were here to see this. He would be so pleased for you."

Spock glanced to the floor. McCoy was right. Jim's absence was felt strongly, especially today. Spock would have liked to have had his friend there as well. But Kirk was a risk taker, and had finally taken one too many. "I miss him as well." Both men spent a moment in quiet reflection.

"So, this is the last one for you?"

"We were wed by the _ek'wak farr_, the forever mating. There will be no divorce. Even were we to separate, which I thoroughly doubt, we will always remain husband and wife."

"Rather drastic don't you think?"

"I am that certain of our feelings for each other. As you might want to hear, Doctor, I love her." He smiled down to the physician. "Does that ease your concern for me?"

"It tells me that after all of these years and all of my prodding, you've finally made peace with who you are."

"I have found peace through her and look forward to what the future might bring to us together."

"I hope I'm still around when the first baby comes along. You do plan on children?"

"Indeed. It is only the number upon which we disagree," he wryly answered, his eyes rolling in the only way a Vulcan could - just barely. McCoy began to laugh, a deep hearty laugh, imaging the taciturn Vulcan the father to a dozen little ones. That would certainly upend his methodical, structured, logical life. "Do I dare to inquire what you find amusing?" Spock asked.

"I wouldn't tell you even if you did," McCoy answered still chuckling. David came up to Spock, bowing to the other officer standing with him.

"David, I did not get a chance to introduce you. This is Dr. Leonard McCoy. Doctor, Cmdr. McFey, my Chief of Staff and friend."

The two men shook hands. "I've heard a lot about you, Admiral," David said. "All good, I assure you. It's a pleasure to finally meet."

"Spock must think very highly of you, Sir, if he asked you to stand with him."

"I can only hope, Admiral." He faced Spock. "Your shuttle is ready to leave when you are. The Arkansas signals it is ready as well."

"Thank you, David. Let them know we will be ready in twenty minutes."

"I put your traveling clothes in the dressing room down the hall. Just leave the wedding clothes, I'll take care of them later. Your luggage is already on board." With Spock's nod, the other turned and left.

McCoy faced his old friend. "So, this is good bye, Spock."

"I would prefer your Earth term 'adieu,'" he corrected. "Once we return from our honeymoon, we will be residing on Earth. Should you find yourself planetside, I would enjoy it if you would visit."

"I promise to look you up, if I'm ever in the neighborhood." He held his hand up in the Vulcan ta'al he had always found so hard to do. "Live long and prosper, my friend."

An elegant eyebrow rose, but Spock returned the salute. "Live long and prosper, Bones." The Vulcan went to claim his bride from her father.


	15. Chapter 15

**_A/N: Ah ha! I knew it!_**

* * *

In a large open chamber, cavern like, cathedral in size, Spock waited. Before him, seated in a semi-circle, eleven members of the High Council talked among themselves. To his right David sat behind a control panel, St'van stood near the human's right side. Around the chamber were the more important, more ranked citizens of Vulcan, nearly one hundred people. Behind Spock was a large, blank screen situated so all could see.

In orbit around Vulcan, the crew of the Arkansas had gathered in the cargo bay to watch. Tremaine and his senior command staff anxiously awaited on the Bridge, all eyes rooted to the viewscreen. Tensions were high on the ship, the crew had been struggling with the situation, fear and the sense of loss high, confusion and apprehension higher. When Ambassador Spock had announced that he and his companions had found an answer, the mood of depression had lifted a little.

Spock took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily, centering, relaxing. He felt calmer than he'd been in two days. He knew the path to take now, sure of himself, hope within reach.

He took another deep breath, pairing his hands in front of him, index fingers extended. A breeze blew through the chamber, rustling the robe he wore. The Vulcans had decided to give him high credence and offered him the appropriate attire. He did not care - he was anxious to finish this here so they could board the Arkansas.

Solare tapped the table three times with a heavy gavel. The room silenced immediately. "Spock, thee hast called this session to explain thy presence and the presence of thy companions. Thee may proceed."

Spock bowed slightly. "My Lords, Councilors, citizens, crew of the Arkansas. When the Arkansas arrived at Vulcan three days ago, we discovered a major change had occurred in our galaxy. I had first assumed that we had passed through a doorway connecting the reality we on the Arkansas knew to one in which humans had not discovered space flight and the resulting warp travel. To return to our own reality would have involved returning to the doorway, opening it and pass back into our own reality. That premise proved false.

"We have discovered the truth, however. Time as you may know, travels in a linear path, always in one direction on its plane. That path never wavers. But it can be broken and the path can move to another plane where it will continue." Behind him, David illustrated Spock's explanation with graphics.

"Past time," he continued, "history, can easily be changed. It is highly inadvisable and extremely dangerous to time travel. Imagine if you will, Councilors, if someone from the present went back in time and dissuaded Surak from the path of peace. What would Vulcan be like today?

"On this premise, my associates and I began searching historical documents from the planet Terra, also known as Earth. Many theories may explain why we on the Arkansas were not affected by the time change, I will not go into them here. Only know that our information from the ship was accurate for our reality.

"By comparing the information from the Arkansas with that gathered by the Vulcans observing Earth, we discovered the period in which the change occurred. If you will watch your monitors…

"In the early twentieth century, old Earth reckoning, a pacifist reform movement began in response to a global dissatisfaction with criminal law and punishment. It started in southern England and within ten years had spread to the rest of western Europe. Fifteen years later, the rest of Europe had succumbed to the movement, followed closely by the Asian continent, Africa, the Australias and finally the Americas.

"Because of this movement, the global wars known as World War One, followed by World War Two, did not occur. Earth did not face a global war until the middle of its twenty-first century. Hundreds of thousands who had been slated to die in our reality did not.

"Also to suffer were the inevitable technological advances that war generates. Nuclear energy, harnessing the atom, laser power, medical advances, research, the development of high tech computers - all delayed. The technological revolution of the twentieth century stagnated for two hundred years.

"All because of one man, a man whose message of peace and unity came at a time when humans could not appreciate the message. This man," he emphasized, turning slightly so he could view the picture as well.

On the screen a photo appeared. The grainy and somewhat blurred picture was of a young man. "Sharpen," Spock requested. David tapped a few buttons and the picture cleared.

Even among the Vulcans a gasp was heard as pointed ears and slanted eyebrows focused. The young man had dark hair and eyes, his skin was tinted with a light green color.

"His name is Salec," Spock said to the stunned audience. "He is my son."


	16. Chapter 16

**WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT **

Spock stood in front of the Federation Council and squared his shoulders. Taking a deep breath he continued. "Mr. President, Councilors, you must lend aid to the people of Envata Seven. The current industrial system will lead to the eventual degradation of the planet's environment and threaten their continued existence."

"Explain your reasoning, Mr. Ambassador," Council member Shardoff demanded.

"You need only to look to this planet's own history, Councilor Shardoff. Once Earth entered its industrial revolution, it took less than one hundred years for pollution levels to reach disastrous proportions. Twice in Earth's history, in the United States alone, because of antiquated drilling methods, thousands of acres of coastline faced annihilation from oil spills. Countless numbers of wildlife died, jobs were threatened. The environmental damage took decades to revert to pre-spill conditions.

"Such problems emerged as weather pattern changes, rising seas causing flooding, the increase of endangered species due to habitat loss, all a result of unhampered and uncontrolled pollution from industry, manufacturing and unrestricted vehicular usage.

"Alternate energy sources - solar, water and wind - were not invested in, since industry had built itself around the use of fossil fuels and the companies that owned exploration, drilling, and processing rights to those fuels had a near stranglehold on the governments.

"With the advent of nuclear energy, Earth's problems then turned to ones of how to store the wastes from the fuel. This lead to ground soil pollution and health hazards as people living on or near ground dump sites became contaminated by leaking dump facilities.

"Only through concerted efforts was the damage reversed. Earth stood on the brink of global disaster. Industry, having been given the requisites by their respective governments and the opportunity to clean their manufacturing processes, delayed instituting the requirements to prevent or lessen the effects of their practices. This resulted in worldwide political action, lawsuits, and demonstrations by the people.

"Without the implementation of pollution controls and safe waste removal, the Envatans face similar global upheaval. And in their case, the damage would be far greater, since they have quickly moved through Earth's history of over reliance on fossil fuels and gone directly to nuclear energy."

"Will they not be able to use pollution control technology to enhance their technological advances?" A Halil asked.

"No, Mr. President. We can control what we give them and imbed our own engineers to install and implement it. And that is all they are asking for, ladies and gentlemen, a way to control their industrial pollution before it becomes an imperative."

"You have data to support your request?" Shardoff requested.

"I do, Councilor. I have forwarded my information to each of you to peruse at your leisure. However, I ask that you do not take too long to make a decision. The Envatans are exploring other possibilities and will use their pergium deposits to pay for it."

"They would cancel their contract with the Federation?"

"They have no contract with the Federation, Councilor."

"Of course they do," Councilor Farnes spoke out.

"No, Sir." Spock refuted. "The contract signed by a prior Council expired two solar months ago."

"Yet we're still getting pergium consignments? Why is that, Ambassador?"

"They are banking on the goodwill of this Council to provide them with the necessary technology, therefore they continue to mine and export pergium."

"At what cost to the Federation?"

"I am sure they are willing to consider an equitable trade agreement, Councilors."

"Who has given you this assurance, Ambassador?" Farnes asked.

"Councilor Farnes, I have spoken personally with each of the Envatan Councilors, as well as their Head of State."

A Halil looked to the rest of the Councilors when there was a moment of silence in the chambers. "Any other questions, ladies and gentlemen?" he requested. When no other Councilors spoke up, A Halil turned his attention to his ambassador. "Thank you, Ambassador Spock, we shall all look over your information and meet to discuss this proposal further." He looked to both sides of the chambers for confirmation, then rose.

"Thank you, Mr. President, Councilors." His presentation over, Spock left the chambers through a door to the right. Janeen met him in the hallway and handed him his coat.

"You were wonderful," she enthused.

"That remains to be seen, C'thanae."

"You don't think they'll pass the measure?"

"As with all things in the Council, it is up for debate." He scrutinized her face. "How are you feeling?" He pulled on his coat and buttoned it completely.

"I feel wonderful, really," she promised.

He looked skeptical, but had to take her word for it. "Nonetheless, we will return to our hotel. You should rest."

She wrapped her arms around one of his as they walked. "If you say so, husband," she acquiesced.

A little too easily, he thought. "What are you up to?" he asked suspiciously.

"Not a thing, promise. I would like to see Geneva."

"Another time perhaps."

"Are you going to be chauvinistic about me?"

"No, wife. You need to have a care for yourself, though."

"I am taking care, husband. What harm can come from walking around the city for awhile?"

"In case you have not noticed, it is extremely cold outside and snowing." He turned her head towards him so he could plant a quick kiss on her lips. "I would prefer to spend time with you in our room with a fire burning and the lights dimmed."

She capitulated. She'd take romance over sightseeing any day. "Um, sounds romantic." They stepped outside and Spock flagged a taxi. Aiding Janeen into the vehicle, he gave the name of their hotel as he sat next to her, hugging his coat a little tighter around his body. The cold wind was biting.

Janeen gazed with awe at the scenery as they rode through town. She was fascinated by the architecture of the ancient, historical buildings, decked in both snow and Christmas decorations. Geneva certainly went all out for the holiday and she had to remember to buy something for her parents before they left tomorrow to go home. They had planned to spend part of the holiday with her parents after the small celebration he was allowing her to hold for his office staff. This was their second Christmas together and she was determined to give him what he had missed as a child on Vulcan, since Sarek discouraged Amanda from participating in the season.

Last year, their first year together, Gary and Elizabeth had come to San Fransisco for the holiday. Janeen had purchased a small live tree, for she didn't believe in killing a tree in order to decorate it to celebrate the birth of a child, then throw it out, its usefulness outlived. So, after the holiday, she'd donated the tree to a small park to plant for everyone to enjoy.

They had discussed purchasing a house. The day would come when they decided to have a child and there was no room in the apartment for three. After this holiday, they would begin searching.

They also needed more room for her to teach music. Currently, she had a room at the Pax that she rented, but she wanted to remove herself totally from that environment. She still felt constrained by the school and wanted to have complete autonomy. The Pax still wanted her to teach on a regular schedule, she wanted to be able to travel with Spock when he wanted her with him.

Such as with this trip. He had spent the past month on Envata Seven with the people, investigating their request before going in front of the Federation Council. He'd compiled his information and wrote up his report on the return transport. He also had made arrangements for her to utilize his personal shuttle, timing it that they would arrive congruently. So she had met him in Geneva.

They'd been married twenty months and he never felt more content. He'd been keeping the promise he'd made to her - that he would be coming home to her, sleeping next to her and spending as much time as he could with her. He was truly happy at last.

They arrived at their hotel and he helped her to the door, keeping a hand on her arm as she picked her way through the slush to the sidewalk, then he paid the taxi and followed her.

"Monsieur Ambassador," the head desk clerk called as they walked through the lobby. Spock stopped and they faced the man. He carried a small box in his hand. "Ceci est pour vous," he said holding out the box.

"Merci," Spock said, taking the box. He looked at the box, searching for any clue that would tell him who had sent the box and what was in it as they continued on to the lift.

"What is it?" Janeen asked.

"I do not know." He passed it to her. "Here, open it." The lift door slid open and he placed a hand on the small of her back, steering her inside. "Eighth floor," he requested.

Janeen turned the box around, over and under, looking for a seal to pry at to open it. Finding it, she picked at it with a nail until she'd removed the wrapping. With the paper wrapping in one hand, she pulled the lid from the box.

Inside was a small piano and a note. Janeen sent a glance to Spock and plucked out the note, opening it. 'Welcome Aboard,' it said and was signed, Jason.

Looking over her shoulder, Spock read the note. "Congratulations," he murmured.

Her eyes were wide. "I can't believe it," she whispered, "I actually got the job."

"You made a convincing and beautiful presentation. Why would you feel surprised that Mr. Dumont would not give the contract to the best qualified?"

Her eyes were tearing. "It's just so wonderful," she said. Then she looked at him with anxiety. "Oh my gosh, there's so much to do."

"You will have plenty of time, C'thanae." The lift stopped and opened and they exited into a hallway. "I have every confidence in you."

"I know I can do it." She had heard through the music grapevine that Jason Dumont, famed producer of galaxy accredited entertainment movies, was searching for a musician and composer for a new production. Janeen had expressed an interest in the position and with a sheet of guidelines forwarded from the producer, sent along a resume and portfolio. She then waited on pins and needles for a response. The trip to Geneva had been meant to distract her. Now she was even more excited, now that she had been picked to work the production.

Were she a success, and the production well received, she could do whatever she wanted as far as her music was concerned. Not a single thing that Jason Dumont touched went unnoticed, and most of them won awards for their creativity, complexity, and overall popularity. With this opportunity, she was set for life in doing what she loved most.

At their room, Spock placed his hand against the identification pad and the room door slid open silently. "Lumens, half norm," he requested and the lights brightened. He tugged at the opening to his coat. "Fireplace on." Janeen took his coat as he slid it off and with her coat, she went to the closet to hang them. He sat at the desk and turned on the computer monitor as he keyed in his personal code.

Janeen went to her suitcase and removed a padd and disc. Inserting the disc, she turned on the padd to scroll through the commands. Selecting one, music filled the room and she listened to it intently as she strode to a sideboard where a carafe of water waited. She poured a glass of water and carried it to her husband, then returned to pour one for herself.

He read through his messages quickly, picking out one upon which to pursue. "Janeen," he called, "come here."

"What is it?"

"We have received a message from Dr. Jeremin."

"What does he say?" She muted the padd and set it on the desk by the comm unit.

"I need to contact his office."

"Then hurry and do so." Her apprehension was palpable. She didn't know how he could remain so calm. He had to be employing a concerted effort.

"Patience, wife," he advised. "Comm Center, Geneva."

"This is Comm Center."

"This is Ambassador Spock. I need a connection to San Fransisco, North America, Dr. Andrew Jeremin, Starfleet Medical Center."

"One moment, Ambassador." It took two. "Your connection is open, Ambassador."

"Ambassador Spock to Dr. Jeremin."

"This is Dr. Jeremin's office, Ambassador. How can I help you?"

"Dr. Jeremin requested that I contact him as soon as possible."

"I'll put you right through, one moment."

He could feel her impatience growing as she laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He had to admit, he was anxious as well. He placed a hand over hers, entwining their fingers.

"Dr. Jeremin here. Well, Ambassador, I have good news for you. Is your wife with you?"

"I'm here, Doctor."

"I've gotten all of the tests back, and gone through the results. It's positive, you're pregnant."

Her hand tightened convulsively and he glanced over his shoulder. For the second time this day, her eyes filled with tears. A baby, they were going to have a baby. All of the months of testing, all of the drugs she'd had to take, all of the moods she subjected Spock to from her reaction to the drugs, all of their efforts had been fruitful. Once they'd decided to have a child, they'd had to visit one of only two clinics in the galaxy that could do the DNA testing and recombination procedures. It was still tricky and not always successful. For humans and Vulcans could not reproduce naturally, they needed medical intervention to force the DNA to mix and produce an embryo that would then be transplanted into the womb. Only then would she be considered pregnant, if the embryo planted itself into her womb. The odds were just as even for things not working out in their favor. But they'd made it on the first try. She was three months pregnant.

"Ambassador?" Jeremin questioned when a moment passed with no word from either of them. "Janeen?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Everything looks fine. I'll want to see Janeen every two weeks for the next two months, then we can switch to an every month schedule. Set an appointment as soon as you get back into town."

"We will be home the day after tomorrow," Janeen said, "and make an appointment then."

"Good. I'll tell my secretary to expect your call. Congratulations, to both of you."

"Thank you, Doctor. Spock out." He cut the communications and faced his wife.

She stepped around and sat in his lap, her arms twining about his neck. "A baby," she whispered.

He smoothed his hand down her hair. "A son," he corrected. "A son," he repeated softly.

She hugged him, burying her face into his neck, placing a kiss against his throat. "A son," she murmured, "your son, my husband." With her fingers, she gently combed the hair at the nape of his neck. "What are you thinking?"

"I am…happy," he replied with wonder, "unbelievably happy." He slid her from his lap and stood, holding her by the shoulders. He looked deep into her eyes, her violet colored eyes, a hand buried into her hair. He knew happiness, he knew peace, he knew a future. It was all because of her, all from her.

Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and set her on her feet. "C'thanae," he murmured as he moved around her, touching her gently. In less than a minute he divested himself of his clothing, his desire heavy, full, his skin flushed, tinted greener than normal. She started to reach out, to cup him in her hand, but he stayed her. "_Ri_," he commanded, his voice husky, "_se qual t'dular, ri t'nash-veh_."

From behind her, he reached for the snaps of her one piece pantsuit to loosen them. Spreading the sides open, his slid it from her shoulders, letting the material pool at her waist. He unhooked her bra, sliding the straps from her shoulders and pulling the garment away to drop on the floor. Her breasts dropped free.

From her waist he skimmed his hands across her back. Her skin was soft, as soft as a warm breeze. Perfect in texture and unmarked, he had marveled at her body from the first time he'd seen it in its nakedness. Spock counted each vertebrae in her spine as he followed it from the small of her back to her neck and into her hair. He outlined the edges of her shoulder blades, feeling their firmness, the sharpness of the bone as it drew his hands to her shoulders.

Spock traced the line of her shoulders from her neck to the tips of her fingers, planting kisses along the way, nibbling at her fingertips with his lips, his teeth. Gently placing her hands at her sides, he moved around to face her.

Just his look was enough to set her heart racing, but he repeated the process of tracing her from shoulder to finger tips from in front, then back up, running his hands along her collarbones, feeling the pulse at her throat, letting his hands rest there as it sped up. She drew a breath in, her breasts rising. He watched as the cold air in the room chilled her, her nipples puckering and hardening.

With only his fingertips, Spock smoothed them along the skin of her chest and around her breasts, not touching the tips, but running them around their fullness until he cupped them, weighing their fullness in his hands. Her breasts would enlarge as her pregnancy progressed, filling with the milk with which she would nurse their son. A surge of jealousy ran through him that someone else would be touching her breasts, using them, sharing them with him, even if it was his own son. "_Vaksurik_," Spock murmured, "_a'dle'ad vaksuirk_." With his hands laid over her breasts he palmed them, rubbing small circles around the nipples until they hardened even more. Her breaths were short, shuddering as she once more reached out to him.

"_Kroykah_," Spock said firmly. "_Estuhl tor ri. Stariben tor ri_." His hands at her wrists, he pinned her arms to her sides. "_Dungi nash-veh_." He looked at her long enough to see her swallow convulsively, but she nodded once. She could not refuse him when his eyes glittered that way.

Spock hooked his thumbs into the material of the jumpsuit still hanging on her hips and pushed it down. It puddled at her feet. Going down on one knee, he first lifted one foot, then the other, dragging the material from under her and tossing it aside. All she wore now was a thin scrap of silk that covered her Venus mound and hid her feminine treasures.

On his knees, his back straight, Spock reached to place his hands on the outside of her breasts, the place he remembered so well where he'd first felt her breast, smoothing down her body, encircling her waist, his fingers touching as he held her there. He moved down, cupping her hips before sliding around to linger at the tops of her buttocks, searching for the dimples he knew were there. Grabbing a buttock in each hand Spock squeezed, then let his hands wander to fall under the curve of them between her thighs and buttocks. Briefly, he dipped a finger in the split between her legs. She was moist and hot and he trailed a line of moisture as he pulled his finger free, his nails gently scratching on the tops of her thighs.

With reverence, Spock covered the spot where his child lay within her body, nestled warmly, floating in its liquid cradle, no bigger than a bean. Her belly had not begun to curve with pregnancy but he was looking forward to seeing it, wanting to be with her through every step of the way, every pound she gained, every kick she felt as their child grew within her. Spock would worship her body as it changed and rounded and expanded. He would love her and be with her through all of it, care for her to insure their son came into the world safely. "_Kan t'nash-veh_."

His lips were warm as he kissed that spot, his hands pulling the last piece of covering from her body.

She was a true blonde, her feminine curls as golden as the hair on her head. Her flesh beneath was flushed and swollen, pink outside, red with desire inside. He pushed her legs open as a finger slipped between the lips that covered the opening into her body. He slicked the moisture around her and found her swollen _ko-lok, _that small piece of flesh where much of her pleasure lay. He coated it with her moisture.

With one finger, he delved into her body as his thumb slid back and forth across her bud, his breath warm on her mound as he again and again kissed her abdomen where their lay child lay beneath. He held her up with his other hand spread below her buttocks, his grip tightening as her legs shuddered. "C'thana," she breathed.

He stood, framing her face with his hands. "_Tushah nash-veh krol-tor_," he uttered before his lips claimed hers in a kiss. "_Tushah nash-veh krol-tor_," he whispered.

He lifted her again and placed her gently on the bed, settling himself between her legs after spreading her knees open. He could see the moisture pooling between her legs, her body ready for him, but he was not ready to make that final move.

So he began again, at her shoulders, touching, smoothing, worshipping her with fingertips and lips, suckling gently at first one breast, then the other, as his child would in just a handful of months.

As his hands settled at her knees, he lifted her legs and separated them further, pushing her knees out as far as they would go. "_Dvon tor ri_," he told her as he stretched himself over her, his _lok_ at the entrance to her body, not penetrating, not yet.

Her skin was cool where they touched, but he quickly warmed her with his body heat. He touched her face and opened that link between them that was intimate and intense. Through it he sent her images, exotic and erotic as he kissed her face and throat, nibbling at the pulse point below her ear. When she heaved herself beneath him, he thrust forward, burying himself fully and deeply within her, her eyes opening wide at the sudden invasion, then closing in passion. Her body encompassed him tightly as he sought her hidden depths, the mouth of her womb, and though he knew it was his seed growing within her, he wished, for a fleeting second that he had been the one to plant it there, this way, and not some sterile needle.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, penetrating above and below, mimicking the movements below with his tongue as he made love to her, to her body, to her mind. He pinned her arms above her head as he thrust deeply again and again, tireless. Her body rose with each thrust to meet him, to seek him out, to pull him deeper within.

Together they climbed the pinnacle, reaching for the highest point, straining higher, then higher still until they felt as though they flew among the stars. Her orgasm was a burst of fire, a nova that flamed and pulsed around him, tightening until he could no longer resist her imperative and he flooded her with his essence.

"_Du t'nash-veh_," he breathed against her ear when he could speak again. "C'thanae, _du t'nash-veh_."

"_T'tu nash-veh_," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around him.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

_**Vaksurik**_** -beautiful **_**kan t'nash-veh **_**- my child**

_**A'dle'ad**_** - breast **_**tushah nash-veh krol-tor **_**- I worship thee**

_**Estuhl tor ri **_**- do not touch **_**dvon tor ri **_**- do not move**

_**Stariben tor ri **_**- do not speak **_**du t'nash-veh **_**- you are mine**

_**Dungi nash veh **_**- I will **_**t'tu nash-veh **_**- I am yours**

_**Ri -no se qual t'dular - this is yours**_

_**Ri t'nash-veh - not mine**_


	17. Chapter 17

Spock waited until the murmur in the High Council chambers died down. "What precipitated our return to Vulcan was the breaking of my marriage bond. For those of you unfamiliar with Vulcan culture, when a male and female unite in marriage, they create a telepathic link between them. It keeps them aware of each other and, until several days ago, I believed could only be broken with the death of one of the partners.

"I have since learned that time can also affect that bond. I thought my wife dead, when in truth she has gone into Earth's history. How she moved through time I do not know. Why she did, I do not know.

"I do know, from what we could gather, that my son was born in standard calendar Earth year eighteen eighty-six in London, England. That he did not begin the pacifist movement until his twenty-first birthday when his mother - my wife - is killed during the commission of a crime. I believe his inherited telepathic abilities speaks to his unprecedented success with the forward path of his movement. With little or no training in the disciplines, he utilizes what ability he has against all that we, as Vulcans, uphold and honor.

"Salec disappears sometime in the year nineteen eighty, though there are rumors that his actual death is in the year twenty thirty six. The strength of the movement weakens, but does not die for another one hundred years, in twenty-one thirty-six. As best we can determine, there are no offspring.

"Which brings us - myself, my companions, and the Arkansas crew - to a point where we must make a decision. Do we go back in time to retrieve my wife and son before history is changed? Or do we give the thousands of people meant to die in Earth's wars a chance to live, to give peace to Earth for hundreds of more years, allowing the people to progress naturally in this timeline? If we choose to do nothing, we, the crew and passengers of the Arkansas, must isolate ourselves on an uninhabited planet. But the decision must be unanimous."

"How will you time travel?" Solare asked.

Spock hesitated. "My Lord, I have taken oaths which I must uphold. Whether in my reality or yours, I must maintain my conscience about keeping those oaths. Know that I can take the ship through time. Though risky and dangerous, I am willing to make the attempt. I want my wife and son returned to me. I want to know why she went back in time. I know my two associates here wish to reunite with their families."

"The Captain and the crew of the Arkansas are willing to make the attempt," Tremaine's voice came over the intercom link between the ship and the planet.

Spock took a deep breath. He knew Tremaine would agree with him without consultation. "My lords, with your permission, I and my companions would like to return to our ship to begin making our preparations."

Solare was quiet for a moment, watching his panel as the other Councilors weighed in electronically. "You have given us much to think about, Spock," he finally said. "We will inform you when you can return to your ship. Go back to your room."

"My Lord…" he began to protest.

"Whether you embark on your journey today or tomorrow will not change what has come before. Return to your room."

Spock bowed, chastised. David and St'van joined him. Four guards appeared to escort them away.

"Idiots," David commented, falling onto the bed. They were alone now. "Stubborn idiots." He stretched out.

"They are cautious and wary," St'van answered.

"Of what?" Spock removed his robe, his street clothes of black trousers and shirt underneath.

"Remember, Commander, this is their world, the only one they know. If someone came to you with such a tale and solution, would you not be wary as well?"

"Janeen does not belong in Earth's past, nor does my son," Spock spoke up. "Even within our own history, Vulcans do not make contact until the twenty sixty-three, twenty seven years after Salec's death. And I am accepting the rumors of his death as fact, since he is half Vulcan and quite capable of living one hundred, fifty years."

"I can understand their fear…"

St'van interrupted. "It is not fear they feel, Commander. It is distrust of the unknown."

"If we are allowed to leave and succeed, will they even know the difference?"

"Most likely not. Just as they felt nothing when Janeen went into the past." Spock sat on his bed. "They are weighing the lives of the peoples of two planets against those of the ship and us."

"What about the hundreds of planets and their peoples that may or may not exist if we do nothing? There's a hell of a lot more at stake here."

"We can do nothing until the Vulcans release the ship."

"Except sit here and wait," David said disgustingly. He reached above his head to touch a switch. Music filled the room and he lowered the volume. With his arm tucked behind his head, David closed his eyes. "I miss my wife and children, my life as it was. It want it back, all of it."

Spock glanced at St'van, who raised a brow at the elder. Following David's example, Spock reclined on his own bed and closed his eyes. He still needed to rest and sleep would be welcomed now.

Spock was asleep - finally - a blanket covering him to his shoulders. Nearby, St'van dozed lightly, his back to the room.

David, having napped for two hours, was seated at the workstation reading the Vulcan records of their observations of Earth. Recordings of Earth music played softly in the background. As he read, he munched from a plate of fruit and pastries, drinking lukewarm, sweetened saya tea. He was relaxed in the chair, his feet propped up on the desk.

As he took a sip of tea, momentarily taking his eyes from the readout, the music took precedence in his attention. "Holy Mary, Mother of God!" he exclaimed, sitting forward suddenly, his feet dropping to the floor with a thud. He choked for a moment on the tea, but he caught his breath, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Computer," he commanded, "cease music." The audio stopped playing. "Display sheet music for piece currently playing."

He set the cup on the desk, leaning forward as the screen switched from words to bars of music. David scanned the display intently.

"Computer, display publication information."

"Specify," the computer requested.

"Display composer and date of composition." He waited while the computer searched the files. He whistled softly upon seeing the information. "Son of a bi…"

"What is wrong, Commander?" St'van asked, sitting up, having been roused by David's outburst.

David looked over his shoulder, his glance going from St'van to Spock then back to St'van. "You read music, don't you?"

"Yes." St'van rose.

"Come look at this." David switched the screen back to the sheet music. St'van walked silently over to stand behind David, leaning over his shoulder to study the music.

"Interesting," he murmured. "The tempo changes here and here," he noted, pointing, "and the key raises here, then lowers here. Quite complicated and intriguing."

"Look deeper. Notice anything else?"

St'van studied the music again, listening to it in his head. "There is a sub-harmony within the main composition. It sounds familiar."

"It should." David made some adjustments. "Computer, play revised music."

The melody flowed out of the device, light and airy, a soft, gentle tune. St'van's face took on a look of surprise. "_Yuk-tor kan t'nash-veh_?" he asked, perplexed.

"That's what I thought. Heaven knows, we heard it often enough the past month. Now look here," he indicated, switching the screen back to show the composer and date.

"Impossible!" St'van declared, straightening.

"No, not impossible. She's that good. Just more proof to substantiate our findings. Janeen is in the past. I'm convinced she wrote this as a message to us, never realizing their son was erasing the future she knew."

"The ambassador should be told."

With a glance again over his shoulder, David gave the sleeping Vulcan a quick look, then shook his head. "No, let him sleep. An hour or two from now won't make a difference."

Spock woke as soon as David touched him nearly two hours later. He was alert and ready, if not totally rested. He'd dreamed, of Janeen, of a little boy, of being home. It had been a pleasant dream. He was disappointed to have been dragged from it.

"I have something for you to see."

He tossed the blanket back and stood, straightening his shirt as he slipped his feet into his shoes. At David's insistence, he took the chair that David had been using.

"What have you found?"

"You tell me. Look here." He pulled up the music and composition information on a split screen.

Like St'van, Spock studied the composition, playing it in his head, recognizing his wife's style right away as well as the lullaby. He had taught it to her right after they had discovered that they were going to have a child. He remembered her teasing and the laughter of that night, and the loving.

With a fingertip, he reached out to touch the screen as if he could touch her. "She wrote this. She is alive, in the past." His eyes closed briefly, his hand dropping as he grabbed the arms of the chair, forcing himself to relax. "Thank you, David. This solidifies my decision. I must go back."

"I know."

"Have we heard from the Council?"

"No, and I don't think we will tonight."

Spock glanced at the chronometer. David was right, it was late, even by Vulcan measures. "You are right." He turned towards the sideboard. "Is there any tea left?"

"I think so, though it's not hot."

"I have requested dinner for us," St'van offered. "If you are interested, my Lord."

"I am interested," Spock confirmed. David heaved an audible sigh of relief.


	18. Chapter 18

With dinner over, they lingered over tea, making plans and discussing possibilities. Spock would not talk about time travel since he was not sure that these Vulcans were not above listening in. They'd ended up talking about family and David found himself choking up as he reminisced over his wife and children. In an effort to get himself back under control, he rose from the table to refill his tea.

A buzzing at the door diverted him from his destination to answer the door as it slid open. The other two people in the room rose from the table as their visitor stepped through the door. He was a tall, distinguished male, his hair grayed with age and eyes bright with undisguised curiosity. A guard stood behind and to the left of the Vulcan.

"May I help you?" David asked.

The Vulcan scrutinized the human briefly. "I would speak with the one called Spock."

Spock took a deep breath, an eyebrow rising. He knew that voice very well. He took a step forward. "I am Spock."

"I am…"

"I know who you are," Spock interrupted. "Sybok."

Sybok looked Spock over, down then up, sparing a heartbeat worth of a glance at St'van. He returned his gaze to Spock. "Come with me." Moving back in the direction from which he'd come, indicating that Spock should follow, Sybok lead the two of them into the corridor, the door closing on David and St'van. The guard trailed close behind.

The lights in the corridors of the Science Center had been dimmed as the two walked, side by side in silence. Spock was pleased as well as curious - he hadn't seen Sybok in years. This man was older, but he looked well and sane. He resembled Sarek so much that the sadness Spock had felt upon hearing of his father's death in this reality returned.

Spock and Sarek had been at odds - again - when Jean Luc Picard had found him, on Romulus, to give him the news of his father's passing.

"I understand you claim to be my brother," Sybok began.

"Half-brother," Spock corrected. "I am also a son of Sarek."

"And a human woman."

"My mother's name was Amanda Grayson. My father took her to wife after his marriage to T'Rea ended."

"When Sarek died, he was still my mother's mate.'

Spock stopped, looking ceilingward as he took a deep breath, releasing it as a sigh. He gazed directly at Sybok. "I believe this is what the humans call a 'pissing contest.'" he murmured. Spock would not play the game. "When you were fifteen years old, you took your _kahs'wan_ for the second time. The first time you became ill from drinking impure water."

"That knowledge is not unknown," Sybok refuted.

"You did not have water because you had found a wild sehlat, injured and thirsty. You spent an entire day nursing the animal, giving it your food and water, using one of your shirts as a bandage. The animal repaid you by scratching your leg. If I am correct, you still carry the scar."

"On my right leg, from the knee to the ankle. No one knew of this, not even my mother, except Sarek."

"Sarek told me after I had taken my _kahs'wan_." Having come to an exit, the pair went through to enter one of the Science Center's gardens. It was lighted so that even after the sun had set, scientists and personnel could stroll the paths to relax and contemplate.

"How have you come to be here?" Sybok asked suddenly.

"You were not in the Council chambers earlier today?"

"I was delayed elsewhere."

Spock nodded. "We have discovered that a person from our present went into the past and changed history. When the council releases us and our ship, we will go back in time and correct the change."

"Explain."

"Specify."

"Why would you go back in time to make any corrections?" They came to a bench and Sybok sat. "What is wrong with the present as it is now?"

Spock sat next to his brother, staring at his hands, held between his knees. "The person who effects the change is my son."

"Why would he do that?"

"He creates a reform pacifist movement in response to the death of his mother, my wife. It is my wife who goes into the past where she gives birth to our son." He stayed Sybok from asking why again with a hand. "I do not know why or how she goes into the past. It is my intent to bring her and my son back before that change is made."

Sybok's face took on a hopeful look. "Is my…our…father alive in your world?"

Spock shook his head slowly. "Sarek died three years ago. He had been ill." Sybok's hope drained from him visibly. "I am sorry," Spock offered gently. Sybok nodded absently as he came to terms with the loss a second time. Spock knew how he felt, having hoped Sarek still lived in this reality.

"Tell me about yourself."

"What would you know?"

"Whatever you are able to tell."

"I am an ambassador for the United Federation of Planets, a union of one hundred, sixty four planets, and growing, stretching out across the galaxy. Vulcan was one of the founding members."

"Have you always been an ambassador?"

"I joined the military branch of the Federation, Starfleet, when I was eighteen. I served as a science officer on a starship and then as a teacher for thirty-four years. Then I became an ambassador."

"You sound…content."

"I am, more so since my marriage."

"She is Vulcan?"

"She is human."

Sybok looked as aghast as a Vulcan could get. "Do you claim Vulcan or human?"

"I am both. Sarek wanted me to follow Vulcan tradition. I could not, not to his satisfaction. His displeasure at my failings drove me to Starfleet. I learned to accept both of my inheritances and meld them into a harmonious union. Is that not what IDIC teaches?" He gave Sybok a pointed look, daring him to disagree. When the other indicated he understood, Spock gazed out over the gardens. "I am happy with my life."

"Happiness is an emotion…"

"That is not forbidden, Sybok," Spock jumped in. "You do not need to be unemotional, brother. Nor should you, as the humans say, 'wear your heart on your sleeve.' The release of emotion is healthy, both physically and mentally. It is acceptable to laugh, to cry, and to love. To be Vulcan is to control emotion, not repress it." Sybok's expression was thoughtful. "Sybok, in my world, you rejected the Vulcan philosophy of non-emotion. Because of your activities, you were exiled from Vulcan. I saw you but once after that."

"Was I …happy?"

"You had found a place for yourself," Spock conceded. He would not tell this man, this brother, that he had been near insane and given his life out of his insanity, perhaps the most sane thing he'd done. They sat silent for several minutes. "Do you have a family?"

"Yes, a son and a daughter."

"Do they fulfill you?"

"Explain."

"Before I met my wife, I had thought I was to spend the rest of my life alone. Yet, once we met, it became inevitable that we would spend the rest of our time together. The child she carried when she disappeared was the fulfillment of a dream to pass on my heritage to my heir, since I was Sarek's heir."

Sybok stiffened at Spock's admission. "Then I am dead in your reality?"

Spock could have kicked himself for the gaffe. "You died as you believed," he offered, hoping it would be enough for the other man.

"There was no one of the family left?"

Spock nodded. "Some minor relatives, none with the direct line from Sarek. I am the heir, I am S'haile."

"As I am here."

"Yes. And if you are content with your family, I wonder then at your hope that Sarek was alive in my reality."

"My father was a great man," Sybok said after a moment.

"As was the Sarek I knew."

"Is it so wrong to miss your father?"

"No. There is much I would want to share with him. There are differences I would prefer to have resolved. But they were our choices at the time." Spock felt saddened. "We never shared a mind meld."

"You say that with…regret."

"Yes. My mother was human, my father loved her, something he did not admit to until after her death. But he found that part in me abhorrent. It was illogical, I know, but it kept us apart for many years. I do regret that we could not reach some mutually satisfying accord."

"Our Sareks were very much alike, then. Mine did not mind meld with me, either."

For Spock, the comment seemed strange, that Sarek would not mind meld with his full Vulcan son, since he drilled into Spock almost every day in his subtle way how much he was disappointed in his half human son. "Perhaps it was a failing on his part, instead of ours," he concluded.

The other was quiet again. "What will happen when you correct history? Will we know, of here and now?"

"I do not believe so. Those who have learned of us will forget, if they even exist in my reality. Some will be, some will not." Spock straightened. "My motives are not entirely altruistic. I want my wife and child."

"It is not illogical to want to be with one's family," Sybok granted.

"If I could, Sybok, I would take you with me. Had you not a family…I would not put your wife through what I have suffered."

"Nor would I wish it."

"When I return, I will be without close blood family again," Spock realized.

"From what you have told me, it would not be unVulcan to wish you my sympathy. And you will have your son, remember that." He glanced beyond Spock, then rose. Two guards approached, joining the first, who'd kept his distance as he had kept watch. "You must return to your quarters."

Sybok raised his hand in ta'al. "May you have a safe and fruitful journey, brother. Live long and prosper."

Spock responded in kind. "I shall not forget this meeting. Long life and prosperity, _sa-kai t'nash-veh_."

The two stared at each other for a long moment as the guards stopped less than a step behind Spock. The younger Vulcan decided to give his brother a taste of humanity, turning his hand and offering it to the other. Sybok's brow furrowed in curiosity, but he took the hand so offered.

Their clasp was warm and firm, flesh to flesh, man to man, brother to brother. For a moment, daring to hope, Spock lowered his shields, opening himself to his brother, allowing him to see. Sybok gasped at the invitation, his stunned surprise filtering through the bond before he also opened himself to his brother. For a heartbeat, perhaps several, they communed mind to mind, reliving, sharing, speaking without voice of a love they might have had ha things been different in both of their worlds. Great regret and great sorrow filled them both as they realized that this would never happen again for either of them.

They held each other's hand, reluctant to let go, but finally they did and separated. Turning, without a backward glance, Spock joined the guards.


	19. Chapter 19

**_A/N:_****_References for space flight: _**

****

_**Star Trek Encyclopedia © 1999**_

_Everything moves forward from here. Thanks everyone for the reviews. PS: For some reason, the system won't let me put up the web sites I used for reference for space flight. If you're interested, please send me an email; they're quite good in helping to get things right._

* * *

"Gentlemen, I am violating Federation and Starfleet orders by telling you this, but I believe you must have all of the facts in order to make an informed decision." Spock sat at the head of the conference table on board the Arkansas. Around the table were David, Tremaine, Trice, Starrett, Chief Engineer Weyr, as well as several other officers and crew.

They - Spock, St'van and David - had been allowed to return to the ship early in the morning the day after his conversation with Sybok. The Council had not taken long to decide to allow Spock his attempt to travel back into time. They had expressed a concern for what would/could happen to them should he succeed, but recognized that Spock and his companions did not belong in this time line and had to return. There was no guarantee that even had the Vulcans crippled the ship and stranded the 'newcomers,' that they would have remained undiscovered and/or stranded. The humans were a creative species and with the knowledge they already had, plus input from a Vulcan, the chances were high that they would have figured out a way to escape.

The ship remained in orbit as they discussed the options.

"Maybe you shouldn't bring it up then," Tremaine suggested.

"The crew, especially the command crew, need to be fully informed. If you wish, I can debrief as few crew as possible."

Tremaine accepted that and waved the more junior officers out. They now had only six men in the room. "Go on then, Ambassador."

"You must understand, I am working with a number of assumptions as well as truths. One, a truth: Janeen did not know how to time travel, therefore she is the victim of someone with that knowledge. Two, another truth: one of the methods to time travel in our reality is virtually unknown to the common person, even high ranking officers in Starfleet are not familiar with the access. Of those who knew, most of them are dead, since the discovery was made over eighty years ago. Three, an assumption: a starship was utilized in order to time travel. Who piloted that ship, I do not know.

"I have experienced this phenomenon several different ways. The atavachron on Sarpeidon was destroyed with the planet and was specific to that planet. It could not have been used. I therefore discard this is the means by which my wife went into the past.

"There is the Guardian, and here is where I am violating orders. While I was still an officer on the Enterprise, we had been investigating time wave distortions and traced them to an uninhabited planet. There we found a 'machine being,' for lack of a better term. It did not know itself what it was. This Guardian is capable of portraying history for the known galaxy, from each planet's beginning. When we encountered it, our ship's surgeon went back into Earth history and changed it by allowing a young woman to escape her destiny, to die a premature death. I will not go into why he did this. Suffice it to say, Capt. Kirk and I were required to go back in time as well to correct his error and once done, we were returned.

"Utilizing the Guardian would certainly be safer for all of us. I would assume, in this reality, with no Starfleet and no Enterprise to have discovered it eighty years ago, that it is not being guarded, as it is in our timeline, and therefore freely available for us to use.

"However, we could not bring a ship through the Guardian. I am assuming that the ship that took Janeen back in time is still there. Otherwise, traveling at warp as we were, the crew of that ship would be in the same situation as us, stranded in a present in which they do not belong.

"Nor can we allow that ship, even if we were to bring the crew back with us, to remain in orbit around Earth. Its presence would affect our history. Also, with the knowledge that it would eventually disintegrate from orbit, the pieces from a modern ship's construction in the hands of the right scientific community could affect our history. No traces must remain.

"That leaves one option, to slingshot around the sun and break the time barrier. It is risky, for the ship with the stresses that are involved and the timing of the journey. I can calculate the formulas with specific information, it should take no longer than twelve hours. We could overshoot our destination, or undershoot it. Either way, we cannot continually repeat the journey until we get it right. This is a single round trip. If we overshoot, we will be in orbit around Earth for a longer period of time than I would prefer. Should we undershoot the destination, as long as Janeen has not been killed, we can successfully complete the mission."

"What kind of ship did you use the last time you went back?" Tremaine asked.

"A Klingon Bird of Prey."

"We might not be as big as a Bird of Prey, and we certainly don't have the capacity of the present Enterprise, but we're up to it, wouldn't you say, Mr. Weyr?"

"Aye, Captain. This ship can take us anywhere we want to go any way we want to do it. I guarantee it."

Tremaine grinned at his engineer. They were all alike, loyal to the _ship_ first, then its captain. "Then it's slingshot around the sun. We'll button her down, put away the breakables and go for it." He leaned back in his chair. "Everyone agreed?" There were ayes all around. "What do you need for your math?"

"Precise figures: ship's weight, crew weight, speed capabilities, among other things."

"Work with Starrett, he's pretty much the one on the ball with that stuff. Mr. Weyr will make himself available when you need him. Otherwise, I want him to oversee preparing the ship for the journey. Doc, I know you've been busy trying to keep the crew sane through all of this, but help out where you can, will you? Same for you, Cmdr. McFey. Unless there are further questions?" He gave everyone a moment to consider. "Posts, gentlemen, we have a lot of work ahead of us." He stood, as did the rest, the officers began to file out. "Spock, a minute, please." Tremaine waited until just the two of them were left.

"Yes, Captain?"

"You've said that you have no idea why your wife went into the past."

"Correct. I can not imagine Janeen doing this on her own. She does not have the knowledge, nor the reason. We are content, expecting our first child. She has a contract to do a production that will make her name in the music industry. I can only assume that she was taken against her will."

"Kidnapped. That means hostiles. For whatever the reason, whoever has her, they are not going to be very happy when we show up."

"Agreed."

"How did your weapons systems hold up, on these trips? I wouldn't want to meet up against an enemy unarmed."

"We did not need the weapons, but they survived the trip."

"That's good to know. I also want you on the Bridge directing the journey. You've been there, you know what you're doing better than we. And you still hold your rank."

"I would be honored to lead the way. You have my promise, I will take care of your ship, Capt. Tremaine."

"When should we break orbit here?"

"Once I have made my calculations, we should head to Earth. Everyone involved must be at peak efficiency, so the trip to Earth will give them plenty of time to rest. I need to rest as well. I find I am still fatigued from the breaking of my bond."

"Stop by Sick-Bay. Trice should have something for you if you need it."

"I shall consider it, Captain, though I am not without my own methods of resting. If you will excuse me, sir, I have calculations to begin."

He finished his calculations sooner than expected and had them confirmed quickly by the Science and Engineering Departments. The Arkansas headed for the Sol system and Earth, sixteen point four five light years, at warp eight. It would take them seven days to reach Earth and Tremaine did not want to tax the engines too much before they had to use them to travel back in time. They had plenty of time to test theories and retest them, and then test them again, run them through a simulator and run them again. This was a one shot deal, they had to get it right the first time.

He was in his quarters the night before their scheduled arrival at the edge of the solar system. He was alone, dressed casually in loose clothing, relaxing prior to going to bed. The monitor in front of him was turned on, replaying a vid of the dinner dance held the last night of the Pangea Conference.

It wasn't unusual for news items to be found in ships' libraries. Vidcasts of happenings in the Federation were made on a regular basis and then sent out to space for any and all vessels to peruse at their leisure. So he was able to find and open the vidcast of the Pangea Conference.

Spock and Janeen had hosted the conference, a duty assigned to them by the President. They had been married six months and she had blossomed into a confident help mate, both personally and professionally. Following his advice, she'd hit the ground for the conference with both feet running and in the hands of the two of them, it had been an unmitigated success.

Janeen had worn a gown the same golden honey blonde as her hair so that one seemed to flow right into the other. The top of the gown had hugged her breasts lovingly before draping along her body to hang freely to the floor. Her shoes had matched, as did her jewelry. Her eyes that night were bright with success, pleasure, and love.

Spock had broken with his long standing tradition and worn all white - white trousers, undershirt and tunic. His tunic was embroidered with silver Vulcan glyphs. On his chest he'd pinned his IDIC and Five Star Cluster Award.

He'd lead her onto the dance floor. As hosts, they were responsible for starting the dancing. He'd felt all eyes on them as he took his wife into his arms, holding her for a few beats before stepping into the music.

He loved this woman beyond measure. She was his life. She held his heart and soul in her hands and she cared for them tenderly. Being with her was like being with joy and contentment every day. They laughed and cried together, worked and played exhaustively, loved and argued passionately. Even in her innocence and naiveté, she'd taught him how to love. The gift of herself that first time had been the greatest gift he'd ever received.

They were given the floor for the entire dance. Approval radiated all around them from the watching crowd. The dance had been exhilarating as they moved around the floor without hindrance. As the music wound down and slowed, he, for the first time, in full view of everyone, leaned down and kissed her gently, reverently. The band sequed directly into the next song as the floor filled.

The memories and feelings returned as he watched the playback. He could almost feel her in his arms, her body brushing against his, teasing, taunting, flirting, promising. Had they been alone, he would not have waited for the end of the dance, but picked her up then and there and carried her off to their bedroom. As it was, that night he'd put his desires on hold for three more hours. Afterwards….

They'd overslept the next morning and missed their shuttle for home. With such incentive, they'd remained in Paris a few more days, exploring, laughing and loving.

He was so empty without her, without that constant bond that existed between them. Different from their marriage bond, it had brought them together in the first place. It was a bond that deepened with every passing day.

And now it was gone. He felt ripped apart, whole chunks of him missing, his brain sliced in half without that gentle touch she gave him. He'd never realized how much a mental connection meant to him, how much he gotten used to it and how much it had become a natural part of him, until he'd lost the one that meant the most to him. If this was what it was like for humans, he wanted no part of it.

It was now he realized that up to three years ago, he had only been living a partial life. He had been facts and logic, pure and unaffected. But Janeen had given him the third side of his life - the color, the scents, the tastes, the touches, the tones, all of the things that made life wonderfully pleasurable or tragically sad. Emotion was the third side, the connection in a triangle that had made him whole.

A buzz sounded at his door. "Come," he invited, reaching out to stop the recording.

David entered, his uniform neat. "Evening, Spock. Just wanted to make sure you're all right before I turn in."

"I am fine. St'van?"

"He's settling down for the night. Been busy helping out making sure everything is shipshape for tomorrow. Call me if you need anything?"

"I can manage. David, I have yet to thank you for saving my life."

"No thanks are necessary."

"You risked your life. Mind melds under those circumstances are dangerous even for those trained to handle the situation. At the least, you could have gone insane."

"And at the least you would've gone dead. Where would we be, right now, without you? What would I say to Janeen after we found her if you'd died? Any way you look at it, alive or dead, we would have brought you back to Vulcan and discovered the problem. Eventually, we would have figured out a way to solve it. Do you think I could have left her back there, that I would have if I had the means to retrieve her?" David sighed. Glancing up, he caught the stilled scene on the computer.

"We're very fortunate men, you and I."

"How so?"

"We've found that one person, in all of the galaxy, who completes us, who makes us whole and gives us strength." He stepped closer to the computer, reaching out to touch the screen. "I miss Carolyn so damned much. I mean, I know she'll be there when we've completed our mission. But knowing that right now, at this very moment, that I can't contact her and talk to her…I feel turned inside out." He gave Spock a sheepish look. "May not be a marriage bond, but I kind of understand what you're going through."

Spock rose. "David, t'hy'la, a bond is a bond, whether it is formed mentally or over time. I have seen the way you and Carolyn look at each other, the way you touch, how you appear to communicate without even speaking. Before I met Janeen, I envied you." He glanced at the monitor a second. "We have a special relationship with our wives, one for which we would sacrifice everything."

"You're right there. I can't think of anything I'd choose over my family or you and Janeen. I love all of you."

"As I have come to love you."

David shrugged. "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you're okay. We have a big job ahead of us."

"Indeed. You need to rest as well. Sleep as long as you want. Nothing will happen until we reach the edge of the solar system.

The human harrumphed. "If I know you, you'll be up all night."

Spock's lips turned up in smallest hint of a smile as he reached into a pocket. Withdrawing his hand, he revealed a small bottle of pills. "I shall sleep as well."

David grinned as he gave a short, sharp nod. "Good. Shall we meet for breakfast?"

"Do not wait for me, t'hy'la. We have little leeway in the procedure. Everyone must be prepared thoroughly."

"Then I'll say goodnight and good rest."

"Good night, t'hy'la."


	20. Chapter 20

**_"Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean, higher than any bird ever flew, longer than there've been stars up in the heavens, I've been in love with you.. Through the years as the fire starts to mellow, burning lines in the book of our lives, though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow, I'll be in love with you." Dan Fogelberg, 'Longer'_**

* * *

"Ambassador," Tremaine greeted, entering the transporter room. In his hands he carried instruments. Behind him, Dr. Trice tagged along.

Spock looked up in the process of pulling on his frock coat. He and David were dressed in period clothing prior to beaming down.

He'd awakened that morning and eaten a light breakfast alone in his quarters before summoning all of the personnel who would be involved in the trip to go over the procedure again. David and St'van had caught up with him towards the close of the meeting. Once he was sure that the Arkansas crew understood the gravity of the situation, everyone had repaired to their stations to await the start of the trip.

The trip through time had been rough on the ship. Systems throughout the vessel had gone out, to be brought back on line after a few minutes. Some systems were being held together with a prayer, since there were no parts available in this time period for replacement. Spock had directed the trip from the Science Station on the Bridge, correcting course when it needed and ordering when to put on the brakes. Settling into synchronous orbit over London, England, they were fortunate that the skies were clouded and would thus avoid being sighted by anyone looking through a telescope. Then Spock had scanned the planet to ascertain that they had indeed stopped in the proper century, coordinating his findings with the information in the ship's log banks based on smog levels, industrial capabilities, and physical features. They would not know exactly where they were timewise until they beamed down to the surface and checked with a calendar in the city. Turning the Bridge command back to Tremaine, he left to change into the proper dress.

Spock had requested that the sensors be set to scan for his wife, hoping that five hundred years of improved nutrition and medical advances had changed her biochemistry enough to distinguish her from the Londoners of the time.

Tremaine began to distribute the instruments. "Your communicators, phasers and tricorders. And Dr. Trice…?" he invited, twisting slightly towards the physician.

"I would like to inoculate both of you, if you don't mind. I did some research over the last few days and there's just too much you can pick up we don't have immunity to. For added insurance."

The two men pocketed the instruments and David took the tricorder meant for Spock. "Of course, Doctor." He pulled one arm from the coat and bared it, presenting it to the physician. A hypo hissed against his skin and he felt the mild sting of the vaccines as they penetrated his skin. He rolled down the sleeve and buttoned it, then pulled the coat on completely. Reaching over, he took both tricorders as David and Trice repeated the process.

Tremaine handed over a packet the Vulcan. "Five hundred English pounds in bills of varying denominations and fifty pounds in coin. If I understand the time correctly, that should be enough to hold you for awhile."

"Captain," Starrett hailed.

Tremaine went to the transporter console and flipped a switch. "Yes, Lieutenant?" Spock gave David his tricorder.

"Sir, we haven't been able to locate Madam Spock, but we have picked up a life form that shouldn't be here. It's Vulcan."

Spock's head rose sharply, he ceased buttoning his coat, an eyebrow rising. "Are you sure, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Ambassador. Sensors indicate a male, possibly one point three meters in height."

"What the hell is a Vulcan doing on Earth now?" David asked.

"Unknown, David. Lieutenant, do you have the Vulcan's coordinates?"

"Yes, sir."

"Transfer them to the transporter controls and our tricorders, please."

A half minute later, both the transporter chief and David indicated they'd gotten the information.

"Beam us down one hundred meters from those coordinates, Chief." Spock ordered. David stepped onto the transporter platform as Spock put on a heavy wool overcoat. It was winter in London. He would feel the cold.

"Good luck, Gentlemen," Trice offered. "Keep us posted."

"Thank you, Captain," Spock said as he smartly stood on his transporter pod. "Energize," he commanded.

They materialized in an alley way off of a busy street. David immediately brought his tricorder around and began to take readings. "I've got him, about one hundred and one meters to the east, moving slowly."

Spock peered out into the street, drawing back as two women crossed directly in front of him, giving him no more than a passing glance. He surveyed the buildings with a passing interest. His knowledge of architecture was not extensive, but he did recognize the newness of the Gothic bent of many of the buildings, a reignited interest of the people of the time. Several building, stores and offices, were currently under renovation, scaffolding blocking the sidewalks. He knew that the whitewash of many of the once red brick and mortar structures was supposed to be whiter, but the predominant use of coal had discolored them to a dull gray. Even the snow at his feet was tinged, blanketed by a thin layer of soot.

The street was crowded and noisy, vendors hawking their wares even in the cold day, customers haggling over prices. Lambs baad and chickens squawked amidst the din. The clacking of horses' hooves as they pulled rackety wooden carts, wagons and creaking buggies added to the commotion. The street was cobbled with bricks that appeared as old as the city itself, many of them cracked and broken, the rest well worn without sharp edges. Though he was a vegetarian, he was very glad that laws had been passed concerning the slaughter and handling of animals as he listened to the sharp cry of a chicken that was suddenly cut off with a solid sounding thunk.

Spock knew that sanitation practices were practically unheard of and diseases such as cholera and dysentery were common. He hoped that Janeen had managed to avoid all of the ills that plagued this primitive, ill-informed culture. Of and by themselves, these people were lucky they had survived.

Snow was piled along the curb, paths cut through at intervals for pedestrians to cross the street. Piles of horse manure, swept from the middle of the street, were barely hidden under mounds of snow. Out of sight, out of mind did not necessarily mean out of smell.

Though the weather was cold, the sun was shining brightly and warm. The scents of the market hung redolent in the still air - the animals, the food, and the people. The smell of unwashed bodies and sweat, the perfume of animal defecation along the curb, the aura of living animals mingled with the aroma of various plant products, it was odiferous and overwhelming, it was exciting.

David came to stand next to Spock, looking out over the street. He took a deep breath, nearly choking on the smells. Behind them, a window opened and a woman's voice hollered out right before a pail of yellowish water filled with a brownish solid substance was hurled into the alley to splash within feet of where they stood. The stench identified the exact contents of the pail. "My God," he murmured in disbelief.

"Indeed," Spock agreed, his own sensibilities nauseated by the commonplace action. "I will go across. Stay even with me on this side of the street." He pulled the hood of his cloak up, enough to cover his ears.

"What will you do?"

"Make contact, find out who he is, why he is here."

"Be careful. We don't know this man's intent."

They stepped out of the alley together, David pointing to the right as they separated. Spock tiptoed through the slush at a curb and lightly skipped over the cobbles, dodging a horse and cart, rearing back as a carriage with a family crest nearly ran him down, barreling through the crowd uncaringly.

Surreptitiously, Spock checked his tricorder, narrowing the position of the unknown Vulcan, searching through the crowd for his quarry. They moved at a steady pace. It appeared the Vulcan was shopping, leisurely and unhurried.

Thirty feet from his target, Spock got a look at him when the crowd parted. He was a tall man, heavily coated, standing in front of a produce stall, perusing the meager choice in vegetables. He had dark hair and skin, and confirmation of his heritage was made when a small breeze lifted the hair covering a pointed ear. Closing the tricorder and hiding it in the folds of his coat, Spock moved forward.

Five feet from the other, Spock could hear him as he spoke with the merchant. His voice was deep, moderately accented, definitely Vulcan. Before he would bring attention to himself, Spock checked on David. He was trying to cross the street, his way blocked by a group of women giggling and laughing, their arms laden. As the women moved off, David started to cross, his tricorder running, pointing in the direction from which they'd just come.

Spock took a deep breath. "_Nam-tor nash-veh Spock_," he said clearly. "_Stariben dungi nash-veh k'du_."

The Vulcan, in the process of paying for his purchase, dropped his hand and turned to Spock, surprise clearly written in his expression. He had no time to respond as David, still halfway across the street, shouted.

"Spock! Watch out!" While he'd been scanning, David had picked up another life form, one that had surprised him as much as they'd been surprised a half hour ago on the Arkansas. But when he'd seen that person, a woman, he knew serious trouble was coming - deadly if he judged correctly upon seeing the knife she pulled from within her skirts and held in her right hand.

The strange Vulcan had looked over Spock's shoulder and could not control the gasp that that escaped. Spock turned and saw the woman approach, but shock kept him from reacting.

She was older but still beautiful. Her skin was smooth and creamy, her eyes as exotic as before. Her hair, still black without a trace of gray, was styled for the times, piled high on her head, falling in a dozen ringlets that reached her shoulders. Her dress was not as voluminous as the ones worn by the other woman on the street, but made of a rich fabric that shined in the overcast light. She wore a short cape of wool around her shoulders that did not hinder her arms.

And while her eyes were bright and clear, they were filled with such malevolence as to frighten him.

"T'Pring," Sock murmured in disbelief. In that instant, he knew what had happened and why.

Pulling her hand back, she stepped up to him and thrust her hand forward, burying the knife into his left side. Her lips curled in a snarl. "_Ashv'cezh_! I will finish this!" she ground out.

With a stunned look, Spock's breath caught in his chest and his face paled as pain radiated through him. He reached out to grab at T'Pring with his right hand. She pulled the knife free, green blood dripping from its point, taking a step back as he started to sink to his knees.

Around them, people began to scatter, screams filling the air as the panic flowed out in a wave. The sound of a phaser whine barely registered above the din, the people hurrying away as the shot hit home - squarely in the back of T'Pring. She dropped like a rock, stunned, the knife clattering to the pavement.

David pocketed the phaser as he ran up to Spock. The ambassador held his right hand to his side, still conscious. Blood seeped through his fingers. "My God!" David cried, going down onto one knee. He braced his friend, bending over to look. "Dear God," he repeated.

The Vulcan they'd been following came forward, grabbing the knife and hiding it quickly in a pocket in his coat. "I am Sarnek," he said quietly, taking one of David's arms. "Madam Spock and I have been waiting for you. Come. We live not far from here." In the distance, they could hear whistles. Sarnek pulled at David's arm again. "Come, before the police arrive."

David acknowledged with a nod, wrapping Spock's free arm around his shoulders and his own sliding around the wounded man's waist. "Hold on Spock," he encouraged as he rose. "Stay with me." Sarnek gathered the unconscious T'Pring in his arms.

They took several alleyways and side streets, dodging police for the first few minutes. Stopping in a deep doorway, Sarnek waited a moment, checking to both sides, listening. With no whistles closing in on them, no running footsteps coming after them, he moved out. "This way." David hefted Spock higher, the Vulcan's feet were beginning to drag.

Sarnek lead them to a red brick townhouse three stories in height. The front yard was enclosed by an iron fence. Within, the garden, now dormant, would bloom with a profusion of flowering bushes come spring. Now it was full of dead stems and brown branches, blanketed with snow. Five steps took them to the front doors, the right side front door opening as Sarnek approached.

"Good lord, Mr. Sarnek," the butler exclaimed, his eyes wide, "what happened?"

Sarnek continued through the door, turning to the left into a parlor. "In here," he directed. "Mr. Stiles, please get towels and bandaging, lots of it." He propped T'Pring, still unconscious, on a settee.

David lead Spock to a chaise and lowered him gently, falling to his knees as he ripped open the overcoat. Underneath, the jacket was blood soaked. David put his hand over the wound and pressed hard. Spock gasped with pain.

David was furious. He now knew the answers to most of their questions and he didn't like any of them. "Get rope," he ground out, "and tie that bitch down. She gets loose, I won't use a stun setting on her." He leaned harder into the wound, the blood seeping through his fingers. Sarnek left the room as David tapped his comm pin.

"Arkansas, this is Cmdr. McFey."

"Tremaine here."

"I have a medical emergency. Spock's been stabbed. I need Trice at my location now!"

"On his way, Commander," Tremaine replied. "Sick Bay, Doc, you have a medical emergency planetside."

"On my way."

Tremaine went back to David. "How bad is it?"

"It's bad, he's bleeding heavily."

"How did it happen? Who stabbed him?"

"Someone from his past." Behind him he could hear the rising whine of a transporter beam. "She's the reason Madam Spock was brought back in time." David pressed even harder. Spock made no sound. He'd slipped into unconsciousness.

Sarnek returned with rope as the full figure of Dr. Trice materialized, a medical bag in hand. He spared the younger Vulcan a passing glance, going directly to his patient, lowering himself onto one knee. David moved to the side to allow the doctor to work, watching, his hand sticky with green blood. "What happened?" The physician ripped the rest of the clothing free until he was down to skin.

"He was stabbed, less than ten minutes ago."

Trice took a heartbeat to assess the wound. "This is bad," he muttered. "Trice to Arkansas."

"Go ahead Doctor."

"Priority beam up, directly to Sick Bay." He moved as close to Spock as possible and the two began to shimmer and fade, then solidified, still in the parlor. "Arkansas?"

"Stand by, Doc," Tremaine ordered. "Transporter, report!" he barked.

"Captain, the transporter is malfunctioning. I can't beam anyone up."

"Dammit," Trice grumbled. "Son of a ….Can you beam down?"

"Aye, aye sir, though I wouldn't recommend anyone going through the transporter right now."

"Just send me down a Vulcan crash kit and surgical pack. I also want three units of Vulcan saline and an IV set-up. Get those down here, stat!"

"Aye, aye, sir."

From the doorway, a gasp drew their attention and David and Sarnek turned. Standing there, her hair falling around her shoulders, was Janeen. She wore a voluminous white gown that reached to the floor, heavily embroidered with flowers. Her feet were bare, her expression filled with shock. As she leaned into the doorway it was obvious the she was very, very pregnant. She grasped the jamb, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. "No," she breathed. "C'thana."

David went to her, raising a hand, forgetting it was bloody. She saw it and paled visibly, lowering to the floor. "Janeen," David said fruitlessly.

Three bundles appeared near the physician, outside of his reach. "Commander, get me a handful of gauze from the left bag." David spared Janeen a glance before he dug into the bag. Finding the gauze, passing it over, Trice slapped it on the wound, leaning into it. "I can't operate here. You have a table?"

"Yes, Doctor, in the dining room."

"Let's get him in there, then. Quickly." Sarnek took Spock's shoulders while David stood between his legs at his knees. Trice kept pressure on the wound as the three men began to move as Sarnek directed. "Madam, bring my bags," Trice commanded as they passed her. When she remained still, unhearing, shocked and frightened, he snapped the order at her again, firmer. "Madam, my bags, now!" It roused her out of her fear as she scooped up the bags and passed in front of the men.

In the dining room, Janeen cleared the table of the vase of flowers centered on it. Spock was hefted up as Stiles returned with an armload of towels. Trice placed a thick padding under Spock's body on the left, pulled the now soaked gauze from the wound and slapped a thick wad of toweling over it.

"T'Pring?" Janeen asked. "She did this?"

"Yes, Madam," Sarnek replied.

"You," Trice indicated, pointing at Sarnek, "hold this, press as tightly as you can." He twisted to grab one of the bags Janeen had set on a chair and rummaged through it. Removing an instrument, he flipped a lever to turn it on, cursed once when nothing happened, then tried it again. He dropped the instrument back into the bag and pulled out another. The same thing happened with this one. "How the hell am I supposed to operate when nothing works?" he mumbled.

"There is a surgeon but a few houses away," Sarnek offered.

"Be like being in the damn dark ages," Trice said deprecatingly, looking at Spock for what seemed a long minute, then at Sarnek. "Go on, get what you can. Scalpel, sutures, needles, anything, but get back here as soon as possible."

"I shall," Sarnek promised, giving his chore over to Trice. As he departed, Janeen groaned loudly, bending slightly, clutching at her middle.

"Janeen?" David questioned, going to her side.

"I'm in labor. My water broke a while ago."

Trice didn't take his eyes from his task, trying to stop the bleeding, changing towels that were becoming blood soaked quickly. "Contractions?"

"About seven, eight minutes apart."

Trice huffed a deep breath. "All right, Commander, you're elected to help her. See if the ship can send down a birthing kit. If not, do your best and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I've got children. I hope I remember something about a woman giving birth."

"Doctor? My husband?"

"I'll do my best. I'm not going to give him up without a hell of a fight." He began to pull what he could use from his surgical kit.

"Please, don't let him die."

"Not if I can help it."

David steered her away from the room, leaving Trice to do his job, Stiles taking orders unquestioningly. "Come on," he said gently.

Janeen started to lead him to her bedroom, turning to the left for the stairs, then changing her mind and heading back into the parlor. Her heart almost stopped at the pool of blood on the carpeting and the chaise, but then she looked up to the woman, now awake, struggling with her bonds. Sarnek had tied her well, she would not be going anywhere until someone released her.

"Whore," T'Pring spat.

Janeen drew herself up. "I don't care what you call me. If he dies, so do you." She turned calmly, for she would never allow T'Pring to see the rage and the fear running through her as she left the room. David spared T'Pring one glance of disgust before following Janeen. At the bottom of the steps, she put her hand on the banister, then turned towards the hallway from which they'd just come.

"Mr. Timmons," she yelled softly. They heard the snick-click of a door as it opened and closed, then a middle aged man appeared from a room under the stairwell.

"Yes, Madam?"

"There is woman in the parlor. Get footmen from next door and take her up to the third bedroom on the third floor. She's strong, so be careful. She's also insane, don't believe a word she says. And for God's sake, don't let her touch your face. Tie her to the bed tightly, make no mistake about that. She's the one who stabbed my husband and I will never forgive you if she gets away."

"Shall I call the authorities, Madam?"

"No, I'll take care of it later. Just make sure she's secured. Send Tess to me when you're through. I'm in labor and I'll need her help. Then see what you can do to help Stiles and the doctor. They're with my husband in the dining room."

Timmons bowed from the waist. "I'll get on it right away, Madam."

"Thank you, Timmons," she called after the man. Her glance slid to David, an eyebrow arching at his stare. He was taken aback by her, never having thought her to be so bloodthirsty before. But, when it came to her husband… "I meant what I said to her," she reaffirmed.

"If you didn't, I would see to it myself," he murmured in agreement.

* * *

_**Ashv'cezh -revenge**_

_**Nam-tor nash-veh Spock - I am called Spock **_

_**Stariben dungi nash-veh k'du - I would speak with you**_


	21. Chapter 21

"_**The gift you are, like the very first breath of Spring; the gift you are, all the joy that love can bring; the gift you are, all of our dreams come true; the gift you are, the gift of you. You are the promise of all the ages, you are the prodigal son, you are the vision of prophets and sages, you are the only one." John Denver, 'The Gift of You'**_

Spock woke to the smell in his nostrils of burning wood. Under laying that smell was an acrid odor that he recognized as the scent of old beeswax candles. As he rose closer to consciousness he could hear the sharp snap and crackle and occasional 'thushing' sound of breaking wood from a nearby fire.

He was very warm. Lifting a hand, he discovered that he was covered by a thick quilt pulled up to his chest. He could feel his arm was enclothed by a long sleeve that was bound at his wrist with a wide, tight cuff.

His eyelids flickered and opened slowly. His first impression was that he was surrounded by white walls, but on closer inspection he found the walls were actually papered with a delicate pastel, flowered pattern. The ceiling was painted white.

Scanning the room, he saw sparse furnishings - a table by the bed to his left, a fireplace with the crackling wood burning. There was a door beyond the fireplace to his left, a dresser made of a dark wood on the opposite wall and another door in the center of that space. As he continued around the room, he found an armoire of the same kind of wood as the dresser. A chair was pushed against the armoire and occupied by a Vulcan male, who was watching Spock with intensity. A window was to the left of the unknown Vulcan and Spock judged the time at late afternoon, perhaps early evening.

The other man was younger than Spock, perhaps closer to that of his secretary St'van, about sixty or seventy Earth years. He wore a costume of the times, dark trousers, light shirt with long full sleeves and a green waistcoat of thick material buttoned from top to bottom. There were button up shoes on his feet. He had his hands paired in front of his chest. His face was impassionate, though he did raise a single eyebrow at the ambassador's scrutiny.

Spock tried to speak but his throat was dry and his tongue thick from lack of moisture. He gathered some saliva and swallowed deeply before finding his voice. The younger Vulcan rose. "You were in the street," Spock said hoarsely.

The other raised his hand in the _ta'al_. "Yes, _S'haile_," he responded keeping his voice controlled and just shy of speaking in a normal level. "I am Sarnek, of the house of K'nash-sen-sha."

Spock searched his memory. K'nash-sen-sha was a minor house, but of acceptable repute. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, his mind slowly remembering. "I saw T'Pring," he murmured in disbelief.

"Yes, _S'haile_. She is a cousin, several times removed."

"How…" Spock started, his thoughts confused, still muddled. "Where am I?"

"Your wife's house, S'haile. I brought you here after T'Pring stabbed you."

Everything became crystal clear then. Transporting down to the surface, the biting cold of the weather, the snow on the ground that he had to step over. The sounds of the people and the carts as they rumbled along the cobbled stone street. The general atmosphere and odors of sewage, sweat of unwashed people and stained clothes, the animals allowed to defecate along the curbs, the scent of the winter weather and chill of the air. He and David had scanned for the Vulcan life form they had detected from the ship and found him casually strolling the vendors as they were touting their wares. Spock had approached the man and was introducing himself when T'Pring had appeared from behind him amidst the crowd. With a harsh guttural cry, she had buried a knife in his side.

He vaguely remembered the whine of a phaser and David stooping next to him, then being hefted by his friend and dragged through alleys. After that, everything became a blur of vague impressions.

He did remember the fire in his side caused by the knife, the pain that shot from the wound up to his shoulder and down to his hip. The blood that chilled as it soaked into his clothing. He recalled having trouble breathing and trying to control the agony that burned through him before he passed out. He thought he remembered a house and a chair and David calling the ship for help. Then there were no memories at all.

"Where is T'Pring?"

"She is in one of the upstairs servants' rooms, tied to the bed posts. She will not escape, _S'haile_."

"My wife?" he interrupted.

"She is two doors down the hall, in labor."

Spock grabbed the quilt and tossed it aside. He started to rise and was pulled back into the mattress as pain ripped through him. He groaned audibly, causing Sarnek to tilt his head at the ambassador's verbal expression of physical discomfort. Spock took several deep breaths to bring himself back into control, calling on his Vulcan disciplines, his eyes closing momentarily. When he opened them he looked to Sarnek. "Help me up," he ordered.

Sarnek did not move. "Dr. Trice said you are to remain in bed."

Spock held his arm out. "Help me up," he repeated more forcibly. "I will go to my wife."

"The doctor will not approve," Sarnek tried again.

"I have no care for whether or not the doctor approves. Help me up," he repeated for the last time.

Sarnek took Spock's arm above the elbow and pulled gently, ignoring the other man's soft, indrawn hiss of pain. Slowly, he helped the ambassador to a point where he could slide his other hand around Spock's back for support, easing the stress on his wound.

Spock glanced down. He wore a white nightshirt congruent to the times, it hung over his knees to his calves. His feet were bare and he could feel the material as it rubbed against his skin, making him aware that he wore no clothing under the garment. A bandage over his side on the left pulled at his skin as he moved. He dropped his legs over the side of the bed. "I shall need a robe," he observed.

"And slippers," Sarnek added, releasing Spock and moving to the armoire. Opening it, he removed a black velour robe and a pair of black leather slippers. Dropping the slippers at Spock's feet he waited until the ambassador had slid them on. He helped Spock to stand then held the robe open for Spock to slide his arms through and waited as the other tied the robe belt loosely.

"Where is my wife?"

"This way, _S'haile_." Sarnek took him down the hall outside his room to the left, passing one door before stopping in front of the next. He started to raise his hand to knock on the door when through it they heard the sound of a muffled female moan followed by a baby's cry. Spock stiffened visibly, taking a deep breath. His son had been born. He had a son.

He didn't wait but reached around Sarnek, turned the knob and pushed the door open.

She was here, laying on a bed, her head propped up with pillows. Janeen's face was edged with sweat and effort, her hair hung in uncombed strands around her shoulders. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her legs had been drawn up and parted, Trice sat on the bed at her feet, his attention at the place under the sheet that covered the tops of her knees. David was to the left of the bed, busy with something at a dresser.

"C'thanae," Spock said huskily, his heart pounding in his body. As soon as he saw her, the bond they shared before their marriage flared to life. He could feel her joy, and exhaustion, at the birth of their child. He could feel her sadness that he had missed it. He could feel her worry that he had been hurt.

"Ambassador," Trice said, not looking up from his work, "you are supposed to be in bed."

"Doctor, I will be with my wife," he corrected.

Trice rose, pulling the cover over Janeen's legs to keep private things private. He rounded on the Vulcan. His eyes were bright from fatigue, his face drawn. "No sir," he grated out, "you need to be in bed. I spent five hours sewing you up and I will not have my hard work ruined. Now, you may be a big shot out there," he continued, pointing towards the ceiling, "but down here, and even up there if that be the case, my authority overrides even an admiral's. You get yourself back to bed, or I swear, I will sedate you right into next week." Spock was taken aback by the attack, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

All of Trice's audacity fled with the next breath. He sighed loudly, wearily, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go back to bed, Spock. Get some rest. You'll see your wife soon enough." He added the final argument. "Please."

Spock looked from the doctor to his Janeen. She smiled to him, unshed tears in her eyes, and nodded - she was fine, go take care of yourself. He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders, pulling his authority, what the doctor would permit, around him. "Very well, Doctor. You will come to see me as soon as you can."

"Yes, Spock, as soon as I can." He jerked his head towards the hallway. "Go on," he said gently. "Mr. Sarnek, stay with him."

"Yes, Doctor." Sarnek plucked at the ambassador's sleeve, urging him to accompany him back to the other room. Trice turned back to his new mother.

Spock gingerly lowered himself to the bed, sitting wearily. The short trip down the hall had exhausted him. His side burned and ached, he was sore all over. He let the slippers fall from his feet.

He was about to lay back when the door to the room opened. David crossed the threshold, a blanket wrapped bundle in his arms. He grinned at Spock as he entered the room fully, going directly to the Vulcan. He leaned towards him. "My Lord Ambassador Spock," he said reverently, "may I present your son." He offered the bundle he carried.

Spock allowed the child to be placed in his arms and glanced up at David, mystified at what to do with what he'd just been given. The human gave a nod of assurance, pulling Spock's elbow up slightly to cradle the newborn's head properly.

Spock looked down and instantly fell in love. His son was small, much smaller than he would have thought, so tiny he looked as though a breeze would blow him away. His heart swelled with unaccountable and illogical pride and pleasure. A son. He had a son. A child to cherish and love, to teach all that he knew, to guide and watch over as he made his own way in the universe.

He had thought while they were on Vulcan that this had truly been lost to him and his heart had broken a second time. If he had thought that losing Janeen had been worth dying for, this made the idea so much more potent - to realize that he would have lost this and died for it as well.

Spock vowed that he would not do to his son what Sarek had done to him - the constant sessions of discipline, the disapproving looks that could cut a child in half. He promised that he would accept his child for what he was, what he was going to be and make sure his son knew that his father loved him.

The infant had skin tinged with the slightest of green coloring and a full head of almost black hair. His eyes were closed so he could not see their color. Already he showed the promise of long, slender fingers. The brows curved gently in a graceful arch towards his temple. His ears, though currently flattened against his head, were pointed. His son looked like him. Spock conceded to himself that he had hoped the boy would take after him. This was his heir, destined to become the head of the clan, but all he expected from the child was to learn about his heritage and respect it, even should he ultimately decide not to claim it.

With a finger, he smoothed it along the baby's cheek. The baby yawned and wiggled, his fisted hands to either side of his cheeks, then settled into a weary sleep. He had had too busy of a day to worry about the consequences of his birth and the significance of the man holding him. "_Na'shaya_, Senar, _sa-fu_," Spock murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "_Ma du aitlu, ma du ashau_."

"So, it's to be Senar anyway?" David asked.

"It means 'gift.' Senar, son of Spock, son of Sarek, of the house Telek-sen-deen." Spock felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him. As much as he regretted it, he pushed the baby back towards David. "I must lay down."

David took the child, holding him close to his chest. "You okay?"

"Exhausted. In pain."

"I'll see if Trice has anything you can have until he comes in."

Spock waved a hand. "Not necessary. I may wait. Janeen?"

"She's fine. It was an easy labor."

"Thank you, David, for bringing my son."

"Janeen wanted you to see him first. You want me to tell her something?"

"No. What I have to say to her is for her only."

"Rest, Spock."

"I shall."

Spock waited until David had departed before trying to lift his legs back onto the bed. His body would not listen to his commands, he was drained of energy. Seeing his dilemma, Sarnek reached down and lifted the other's legs. Spock slid them down the bed and Sarnek pulled the covers back up to just beyond the ambassador's waist.

"Can I get something for you, _S'haile_?"

"You may cease calling me that."

"Explain."

"Spock will do, or Lord Spock, if you insist. And I am thirsty."

Sarnek went to the door and pulled a cord hanging next to it. Only a moment passed before there was a discreet knock on the door and it opened. A human man looked around the edge of the door then came fully into the room.

"Yes, Mr. Sarnek?" He wore a suit of some sort, clean and sharply pressed and acted with deference to the Vulcan.

"Mr. Timmons, this is Lord Spock, Madam Spock's husband."

The servant bowed to Spock. "Welcome home, my Lord. And congratulations on your son." Spock nodded his acknowledgement.

"Some tea please, for Lord Spock," Sarnek requested. "In fact, bring up enough for several people. And would you make sure the rest of the staff is informed about Lord Spock?"

"Right away, Mr. Sarnek." The man disappeared.

"Sarnek."

"Yes, Lord?"

"Sit. Tell me what has happened here."

Sarnek took the seat he had been in earlier, palming his hands, holding them to his face as he pondered on the best way to tell the story. As any Vulcan might have to any other Vulcan, they would have relayed the information with clinical detail, presenting every fact for the listener. But he had just spent six months with the most human wife of the most famous Vulcan their planet had known in several generations. He had mind melded with her when she had fallen into the abyss of a broken marriage bond. He had gleaned information from that that no other male should have learned from a bonded female. He knew the ambassador was very protective of his wife and did not know how he would react when he learned that Sarnek had knowledge of such intimacies.

"I had become suspicious of T'Pring when I happened upon a stack of information that she had left out. In it I discovered that she was planning on committing a crime against someone, though at the time I did not know who or how. I decided to keep her under scrutiny."

"Why did you not inform the authorities?"

"I had no concrete proof. What could they have done? And if they had approached her, she would have realized that her plan was discovered and changed plans. I believed it logical to allow her to continue with her original plan, then report her when I had more proof.

"When I learned that she had hired a transport, I followed her and boarded the ship without her knowledge. Though she might not have recognized me had we met. T'Pring does not have much use for those she deems below her and we had not seen each other for many years.

"Little did I realize what she actually had planned. We set course for Earth to where she had previously sent a message to your wife. Once Madam Spock had boarded, she was at the mercy of T'Pring. It was then I made myself known and tried to convince her that her actions were unacceptable. However, she was set in her course and I could not dissuade her."

"What message did she send that got my wife to board the transport?"

"She falsified an urgent message from one of your estate managers. I do not know its contents."

"It was sufficient to get her on the ship."

"Affirmative, my Lord."

"What ship?"

"The V'irigi," he answered. "Once Madam Spock was on board, T'Pring forced the captain of the ship to set a course for the sun in this solar system. I had first believed her intent was to kill us."

"She discovered the way to travel back in time by sling shooting around a sun. I wonder from where she learned such information."

"Again, I do not know. My concern was for your wife, my Lord. She was near hysterical with fear and then when we broke the time barrier…"

"Our marriage bond was broken, yes. Was it difficult for my wife?" His voice had lowered, remembering the agony he had suffered on his part.

Sarnek's face closed, his head bowed. "It was, my Lord," he whispered.

Spock scrutinized the other. "You helped her?" he asked with inspiration.

"Forgive me. I had to help her or let her die."

"There is nothing to forgive, Sarnek. You saved my wife and son."

"I mind melded with a bonded woman. It is unforgivable."

"In any other circumstance, I would agree. But in this case, it was necessary. I would assume you have since purged what you learned?"

He shook his head. "I have not. I can not do it alone."

"Perhaps when I am stronger, I will be able to lend you aid. Please continue."

"By the time Madam Spock had regained her senses, and realized what had happened, she refused to remain on the V'irigi. She transported to the surface. I accompanied her in order to lend her aid and we have been here since."

"And the V'irigi?"

"Remains in orbit. The ship was badly damaged in the trip, it was not designed to do what T'Pring had demanded of it. It will never be able to return to the Vulcan we know."

"And its crew?"

"They are but six in number and they stay with their ship. They realize the dangers of being here and will not come down save for resupplying food stores, and even then they stay only as necessary. I have seen someone from the ship but twice since we arrived, and they do have the freedom of the entire planet in which to find food. They have, on occasion, supplied us."

"T'Pring? How did she know we had come?"

"She has been watching your wife closely, but keeping her distance. I have seen her often following us, or me. T'sai does not go out alone. I will not permit it, knowing T'Pring is waiting. How she is surviving here, I do not know. I believe she may be insane."

"Why would you say that?"

"By her actions, all that I have told you. I have seen her often smile as she watches Madam Spock, not as though she is happy, but with malevolence. Her stabbing you is but another example. She is determined to disrupt your life. And she has not adapted well to her circumstance in being stranded here."

"Why would she not remain on the ship?"

"I do not have that answer. You would have to ask either T'Pring or the captain of the V'irigi."

Spock lay silent. T'Pring had always placed herself and her needs above those of anyone else, her interests prurient for a Vulcan. Stonn, Spock had learned, had died from the excessive use of drugs to enhance his ability to keep T'Pring satisfied, especially sexually. T'Pring, however illogical it might have seemed, blamed Spock. She had tried, unsuccessfully, to direct in pushing through the Referendum, a planet wide vote to ban all extraterrestrials, particularly humans, from Vulcan. Had the vote passed, Sarek would have had to divorce Amanda in order to keep his titles and property, or he would have had to leave Vulcan with her. Spock would have lost his ancestral home with his citizenship. Again, she blamed Spock. All because he had had the audacity to release her from the marriage contract at _Koon-ut-kah-li-fee_. Her plans had been to marry him and gain his titles and wealth and he would leave and she would still have her Stonn, the male she had used to cuckold Spock.

There was another knock at Spock's room door. Sarnek rose to admit Mr. Timmons, a tray in his hands with a pot, cups, silverware and small, covered containers. He took the tray to the dresser and set it down carefully. "Shall I pour, Mr. Sarnek?"

"No, thank you. I will take care of it. Thank you, Mr. Timmons."

"Very good, sir." The servant left.

"How have you survived here?" Spock asked as Sarnek fixed a cup of tea.

"Your wife has been giving music lessons until recently. I have been doing accounting work here in the house. We try to limit our excursions outside of the house. When you found me, I was looking for fresh produce. There is not much of a choice at this time of year." He brought the cup to Spock's side of the bed and set it on the night table. "If I may?" he asked, reaching to Spock. He helped the other to rise enough to place more pillows behind him then gave him the tea. Returning to the dresser, he fixed a cup for himself, taking it back to his chair.

"Trice said he spent five hours sewing me up. What did he mean?"

"He meant," the man in question replied entering, "exactly what he said." He carried a medical bag with him which he placed on the bed at the footend.

"Explain," Spock demanded.

"Damn fool machines," the physician complained. "After you and Cmdr. McFey beamed down, something fizzled out in the transporter console. The engineer jury rigged it, you called for help and I beamed down. Whatever they had fixed fizzled out again along with something else. By the time I called up to return 'cause you were bleeding to death, transporting people was out of the question. They managed to get a surgical pack down, but everything in it that ran on any kind of energy was rendered useless. No regenerator, no laser scalpel, nothing.

"Sarnek here told me there was a surgeon living close by, so I sent him to get me whatever he could while I tried to control the bleeding. He brought back the surgeon in the flesh and we spent more time than I ever want to have to spend ever again with my hands inside a body sewing sutures with cat gut. That's the reason why I want you in bed until we can get out of this godforsaken place. That other surgeon knew what he was doing, but it's been a lifetime since I've literally sewn a patient, and that one was a corpse at the time."

"You have no idea what 'fizzled?'" Spock asked with a touch of distaste at the doctor's choice of description.

"No, I'm a surgeon. Ask our engineer and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to give you an entire treatise on it. " He pointed to the tea they were drinking. "Is there more of that?"

"On the dresser, Doctor," Sarnek replied with a tilt of his head.

Trice strolled over and began to fix himself a cup. "Anyway, once we get you on the ship, I'll take you into surgery and repair that wound properly. For now, as long as you don't stress it, it should hold."

"What else do you know of my condition?" Trice came to the end of the bed, cup in hand.

"You've lost a lot of blood, and I mean a lot. She must have held the knife vertically. Your lung and kidney were knicked, your diaphragm was cut. That wound was serious. If she had stabbed you on the other side, it would have been irreparably fatal. I don't know if that was a mistake or the intent. Without care, you would have bled to death. I'll want to check your urine the first time you pass some, it'll probably have blood in it."

Trice looked thoughtful a moment, sipping from his tea. "The ship beamed down three units of Vulcan saline before the transporter completely broke down, so I want to set it up, try to get your fluid levels back up. I hope you do not come down with a fever, since conditions during your surgery were not ideal. God knows how many germs got into you just from the surgery."

"You have antibiotics?"

"Some, and some antipyretics as well. I'd much rather you were in my Sick Bay. That's where you should be."

"We must deal with what we have until we can return to the ship. Who was the surgeon Sarnek brought?"

"A Dr. Doyle."

Spock raised an eyebrow very high. "Arthur Conan Doyle?" he asked intuitively.

Trice glanced up sharply, then looked to Sarnek. "I believe that is his name," the Vulcan replied with some puzzlement.

"I'll be damned," Trice breathed.

"Indeed, Doctor," Spock agreed. "He did not publish his first story until eighteen eighty-seven. Up to that time, he was a practicing surgeon."

"I do not understand," Sarnek said.

"Have you never heard of Sherlock Holmes?" Trice asked.

The other shook his head once. "I am unfamiliar with that name."

"I'll make sure you get one of the books then. Arthur Conan Doyle created the character, Sherlock Holmes. He was a great detective who solved crimes through astute observation, deductive reasoning, and a wealth of information in his head. You might like him. He is kind of Vulcanish, all that logic and stuff."

"'Vulcanish' is not a word, Doctor," Sarnek reprimanded gently.

"Sounds just right to me."

Sarnek opened his mouth to reply. "Doyle is also an ancestor of mine," Spock interjected before they got into a war of words.

"No." Trice was flabbergasted.

"Yes, Doctor. Arthur Doyle is a relative on my mother's side."

"Double I'll be damned. So you were operated on by one of your own ancestors."

"It would appear so."

Spock set his tea cup on its saucer. "Did he not make any reference to my blood? Surely, if not by my physical appearance, the color of my blood would have shocked him. You are fortunate he did not refuse his aid."

"I have tampered with the minds of the servants," Sarnek offered.

"Explain."

"I cut myself one day. The wound bled freely. Madam Spock and I realized that had the servants seen it, they would have panicked and at the least reported it to the authorities. After she tended to it, I placed a suggestion in each of the servants' minds that if they ever saw my blood again, they would not see green, but red. I did the same for Doyle on the way back to the house."

"That's why they went about doing what I asked without any weird looks?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Trice explained that to Spock. "There was blood everywhere, on the carpet, on the table I ended up using, on the floor beneath it, and your clothes. They cleaned it up without question, took blood soaked towels without hesitation, as well as your clothing."

"What did you have them do with it?"

"Burned it, all of it," Sarnek answered. "I watched as they set it to flame. You are wearing some of my clothing. We are close to a size."

Trice peered at the younger Vulcan. "And what did you tell them about those ears? The eyebrows you might get away with, but not the ears."

"I covered my ears until my hair grew long enough to hide them." Trice snorted in disbelief, but let the subject drop.

"Sarnek, I thank you for the use of your clothing. Doctor, how is my wife? My son?"

"They're both fine. She's undernourished, but from what she told me, it's been hard to get the proper nutrition. I'll want to check you out, Mr. Sarnek, make sure that's all you might be suffering from. This isn't exactly the twenty-fourth century. Hell, it isn't even the twentieth century. They don't have much belief in sanitation and antibiotics haven't even been discovered yet.

"Your son is as healthy as the proverbial horse, though I would recommend him seeing someone more versed in both infants and mixed genetics. I could be missing something necessary, but I'm sure that while she was pregnant, a lot of her nutrients went to the baby. Couple of vitamin shots, some good food, she'll be fine. Same goes for you, Mr. Sarnek."

"I can not impart to you how anxious I am to get back to the ship and our own time."

"One of the many problems yet facing us," Spock said wryly. "We are only halfway through this 'mission.'"

"Until we do return to the ship, I want someone with you at all times, since I don't have a working tricorder."

"Both David and I brought tricorders and they are in working condition."

"Great. At least I can get a better reading on all of you. Still can't set one up without someone to stay with it, unless you did a little hocus pocus with the servants on that subject as well?" he asked, wiggling his fingers at the Vulcan.

"Hocus pocus?" Not only did his eyebrows rise, but his head tilted.

"Mind altering," Spock explained for the puzzled Sarnek.

"As we did not have any tricorders, there was no need for any 'hocus pocus,'" Sarnek replied with indignation.

Trice chuckled softly. "Spock, after that little jaunt you just took, I want to check your stitches." Spock set his tea cup on the nightstand next to the bed.

The room was darkened, a thick, single candle burning on a table set near the chair. Trice sat in the chair, taking his shift at keeping watch on Spock, the tricorder humming softly. Spock slept restlessly, the covers drawn to his neck. The room had chilled as the sun had gone down and a maid had come in to build up the fire and refill the wood holder. David had taken watch for several hours to relieve Sarnek, then Trice had taken his place after a few hours of rest.

After checking the wound earlier, Trice had set up the saline drip, still running at the present. He wanted the Vulcan's blood volume up. Fluids were very important to Vulcans. As a race that lived on a desert planet, they had evolved into a people who could not easily afford to lose fluids of any kind. Spock had been close to bleeding out by the time Trice had gotten it under control. Had he had the right blood and type, he would have done a transfusion. But Spock's blood type was rare, even for a Vulcan, plus he had human elements in it, making it tricky to infuse the ambassador. Trice always made sure, when he knew that the ambassador was traveling on the Arkansas, that he had Vulcan specific items, just in case. They had not expected the call from Thesius Six and the ship had just achieved orbit as a normal stopover when it had come through.

With the added fluids, time, and the Vulcan's uncanny ability to heal faster than most humans, as long as he didn't do anything to aggravate the wound or start it bleeding, he would manage while they were stranded.

The minute amount of light from the tricorder fell on Trice's face as he closed his eyes for a few minutes. He never wanted to repeat the day he'd had today. He'd left his Sick Bay, treating minor injuries from the journey, to beam down and be faced with a major catastrophe as well as a woman giving birth. Pregnancy and labor didn't happen too often on the Arkansas. Most of the crew were well stocked on birth control. Whatever personal intimacies that might have been going on on board were not resulting in the crew having babies. It had been both a stretch of his rusty experience and a delight to be there for the birth of the ambassador's son.

A creaking noise from the door signaled that someone was entering the room. Quickly, Trice muted the tricorder and waited quietly, his hand at his pocket where a phaser rested. A white clad figure crept along the side of the bed, blonde hair flowing down the back. Janeen had come to see her husband. She perched on the edge of the bed, staring down at him for a moment. Trice pulled his hand clear of the weapon.

With her left hand she reached out. Spock had his right hand laying, palm up, on the pillow beside his head, he was sleeping on his right side. She slid her hand into his and squeezed gently.

Spock inhaled deeply, waking fully at the touch of her cool skin, his own hand tightening on hers for a heartbeat before he dragged it to his mouth. Placing a kiss on the back of her hand, he held on as if for dear life. "I have missed you, wife," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

She smoothed along his hairline. "As much as I have missed you, husband," she whispered back.

His eyes opened as he rolled slightly to see her. "You are well, you and the child?"

"We are both fine. Are you?"

"I am as well as can be expected."

Twisting their hands, he laid his flat along hers, opening a mind meld, strengthening that bond that they shared. Her emotions hit him like a phaser blast, sad and joyful at the same time, anxious and worried. She had not had an easy time of it in the beginning, only with Sarnek's help had she survived those first days. After that, she had done what she had to do, knowing that she had to keep their child alive, the trust that he would come for her beginning to fade as the days dragged into weeks, then months. It pained him that he could not have eased her burden.

He released her hand. "Should you not be in bed?"

Her touch to his cheek was gentle. "I am, in your bed, where I belong."

"Then come, lay with me." She slipped under the blanket and nestled next to him, mindful to not press against his injury. "You must promise me that you will never undertake such a journey as the one that brought you here."

"Like I knew that T'Pring, your old girlfriend by the way, was planning on kidnapping me and bringing me back in time."

He was not going to rise to the bait of her accusation, not now. "Nonetheless, should you ever receive a call from anyone with whom you have a question, contact me first. We will set up a code system for you so you may be more assured of the authenticity of the caller." He drew a feather light touch along her eyebrow. "I would not have us repeat this experience," he added softly.

Her breathing evened out. "What took you so long?"

"It was but twelve days for me."

"It was six months for me. I thought you had died. I thought I was going insane."

"As did I. David saved me. Had he not, we would have never discovered the truth of what happened or been able to effect a rescue."

"David told me he found that song I wrote." Their touches were reassuring, reacquainting.

"And it was a good gambit, C'thanae, but when you came back to this time, history changed. Even had David realized you were in the past, he did not have the knowledge to institute time travel. It is due to my experiences in Starfleet that I knew what to do. In the future from which we came, the Federation did not exist, Earth was not the same. The people had not developed space flight. They were three hundred years behind when things should have happened as we know them."

"Why? What happened?"

"You did. You and our son. He starts a reform movement before your World Wars, bringing peace to the world. Earth does not develop the technology it needs to go into space at the right time."

"What will happen then, when we go home?"

"Earth should be as we know. The Federation and Starfleet should exist. Our presence here will be just a memory for some."

She caressed his temple. "Our baby brings the world peace. How extraordinary of him."

"It is because his mother is killed that he does it, C'thanae. Salec is not satisfied with the judicial system that is in place then. I do not know the details of his reasoning, only that he is dissatisfied."

"He's all alone then, after…" she asked in a whisper.

"I assume he would at least have Sarnek, though I was unaware of his presence here. But yes, he is orphaned. Forgive me, wife, for giving you such distressing news."

"Salec?" she asked after a minute of quiet. "Is that his name?"

"It is what you named him in that other time."

"It means gift, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"How appropriate then. Yesterday, when he was born, was Christmas Day."

"It will not be the same date when we return."

"No matter. It will always be special for me, whatever the date when we return."

"If that is your wish, we will make it so." He pulled her head into the crook of his shoulder. "You do not smell the same."

"I couldn't find anyone who could replicate my scent. I did try."

"It is of no consequence. We shall remedy that as well on our return." Her hair was still as silky as he knew it to be as he combed his fingers through it. "Sleep, C'thanae. We both need our rest."

"I want one more thing first. A kiss."

"That request I can grant now," he replied and proceeded to fulfill it. Her lips were cool against his, seeking a promise that he would never leave her again, giving him the same promise back. He could feel his heart speed up as her breathing increased and he ended the kiss when she whimpered against his lips. Trice cleared his throat to remind them both that neither one was in any condition to start something. "I love you," he whispered, his touch still hesitant, as if she were a dream he had not quite awakened from.

"Sleep," he repeated, settling her in his embrace. "I do not wish to endure another spate of wrath from Dr. Trice," he added loud enough to let the physician know that he knew he was there…and listening. An indelicate, soft snort came from the direction of the chair.

_**Na'shaya - welcome ma du ashau - you are loved**_

_**Sa-fu - son**_

_**Ma du aitlu - you are wanted**_


	22. Chapter 22

The sunlight streaming through the window at midmorning might have been the reason for Spock waking. Certainly the brightness was enough to penetrate the man's closed eyes and rouse him from sleep.

Or perhaps it was the warm body stretched out along his side that dragged him from slumber, the covers pulled taut across his own body.

Definitely, he finally decided, the low rumble that vibrated against his chest was the factor that brought him to full consciousness and he opened his eyes to find himself staring at a pair of sky blue orbs that regarded him more with sleepy disdain than any other emotion. The cat extended one foot, the nails unsheathed, then curled that foot and pulled it back to tuck it under its chest. The purr continued nonstop.

Spock's eyebrows rose in mild surprise as he took a deep breath. Janeen had left his bed after only two hours to return to her own room to care for their son. He had let her go without protest, even encouraging her along as she was only leaving to care for Salec, since his survival was as important as their return to their own time.

He was comfortable. The pain had eased somewhat during the night but was still making its presence known with each movement of his torso. He was still laying on his side, having fallen into a deep sleep while she was with him then returning to it after she had left. It had been dreamless, restful, the kind of sleep he had needed for several days. The kind of sleep that had eluded him when he had thought his wife and son lost to him.

Though he wasn't out of the woods quite yet. He was running a fever, he could feel it as he lay there. Trice had described the conditions under which he had done surgery as unreliable, and hoped that there would be no effects from it. It was Spock's misfortune that Trice's fear had come true. Spock's return to the ship was imperative.

His hand rose automatically to pet the cat. For some odd reason, cats liked Vulcans. The only cats on Vulcan were the lamatyas: huge, hungry beasts with poisonous claws and fangs. Sarek had disliked domestic cats because they reminded him of the Vulcan variety. No amount of logic could change his father's mind on the matter. Besides, I Chaya had proven a better pet, a better guardian and a fierce fighter when young Spock had been in danger.

But domestic cats gravitated with a natural attraction to Vulcans and Spock found their purring soothing. He liked their independent nature, their curiosity, their sureness of movement and attention to detail, especially when engaged in hunting. Sometimes, they reminded him of himself.

Movement in the periphery of his vision beyond the cat drew his attention and he found Sarnek sitting in the chair, taking his turn at keeping watch.

"_Asal rom_," the younger man said.

"_Asal rom_, Sarnek," he responded. "What is the time?"

Sarnek pulled a pocket watch from his vest, pushed a lever and it flipped open. How quaint. How terrible a reminder that they were way out of their time. "It is eight thirty-three." He returned the watch to its pocket.

"Is everyone else awake?"

"The doctor and commander are awake and dressing. I had heard Madam Spock stirring earlier, but she has been quiet for an hour now."

"From where did this cat come?" It was a beautiful animal, blue eyed and white furred, with long hair that Sarnek obviously brushed often and kept neat.

"She is mine, Lord Spock. I found her and her brother soon after we came here and brought them home. Madam Spock gave her permission to keep the animals."

"And I shall not rescind that permission. Has there been any word from the Arkansas about the transporter repairs?"

"No, my Lord."

Spock sighed heavily, disappointed. He wanted to go home and the sooner they got onto the ship, the sooner they could get underway. There was a light tapping on the bedroom door before it opened enough to allow Trice to look around it.

"Morning, Spock," he greeted. "How are you feeling?" He carried a tricorder and the surgical kit.

"I am running a fever."

"Not good," Trice muttered, perching on the side of the bed, dropping the kit to the floor, opening the tricorder. He took his readings. "Two degrees higher than normal. The infection appears to be deep within the surgical site. I can give you antibiotics, but the best remedy is to get inside and clean it out." He shut down the tricorder and stood, reaching for the kit. From it he first took a hypo and vial, connecting the two, then giving the shot to Spock. "You, my friend," he said, sliding a hand under the cat, "have got to move for now." He lifted the feline and placed the animal on the floor. With a maow of righteous indignation, its tail held high, the cat sauntered to the fireplace and curled up on the rug before the hearth. "And before you controlled the pain, how was it, on a scale of one to ten?"

"Seven," Spock reported after thinking for a minute.

Trice folded back the covers and lifted the hem of the nightshirt to expose the bandaging on Spock's left side. "Mr. Sarnek, could you get me two towels, please?" he asked as he began the process of peeling the bandaging loose. Sarnek disappeared through the door next to the fireplace, the entrance to an indoor bathroom, modern for the times, something Janeen had insisted on when searching for a house to rent. She regarded the use of chamber pots an abomination and would never permit the common practice of tossing the contents into the street. Thus, the indoor plumbing.

Even Spock could smell the mild odor of infection as the wound was uncovered. He did not need to see the pus that oozed from it or the darkened green color around the wound. Trice did not like the swelling of the flesh between the stitches and he swore softly as he dropped the old bandaging to the floor.

Sarnek brought over the towels, one of which Trice slipped under the Vulcan. The other he used as a barrier between the blankets and the wound. From the kit he pulled out an antiseptic cleanser and gauze, setting about cleaning the wound as much as he could, his patient's initial hiss at the sting of the cleanser a background noise to his awareness. "Sorry," he mumbled automatically, his concentration on the task at hand.

Once he was satisfied that he'd done as best he could, he rebandaged the incision with a light dressing. If he was going to have to change the dressing as often as he thought, especially if they did not get back to the ship sooner rather than later, he would need to spare his supplies.

He was straightening the coverings when David entered, already in conversation with the Arkansas, carrying his shoes under one arm as he buttoned a sleeve. "I'll have Dr. Trice give you an update in a moment. He's with Spock now."

"We've looked into that Vulcan ship, they're trying to avoid us, not answering our hails, and keeping their distance. We'll insist on a reply from them in the next hour," Tremaine advised.

"They may be our only way off of this planet."

"Unless we send down a shuttle."

"Inadvisable, Captain," Trice spoke up. "We'd have to ride far out of the city and I've seen the vehicles they use in this time. Not very reliable and very unstable. I put too much time into repairing the ambassador's injury to have a carriage ride rip it apart before I can get him back into a proper surgery."

"No problem, Doc. We're still working on the transporter, but Parker can't give a definite time frame for when it might be available. As long as everyone down there is secure…?"

McFey looked for a confirmation from everyone before giving a reply. "We're doing fine here, Captain," David answered.

"Then we'll leave you to it."

David passed the communicator to Trice. "Patch me through to Sick Bay," he requested as he began to gather his materials. He moved to the other side of the room to speak in relative privacy.

"Morning," David greeted the two Vulcans, dropping into the chair that Sarnek had been sitting in earlier. He cocked one foot over a knee and pulled on a shoe. "God, I hate these clothes," he complained. "Repressive, restricted. Victorian age, indeed. Can't wait to get back into uniform, even a dress uniform would be better than these things." He tugged the other shoe on and let his foot drop, tapping his knees lightly. He took a deep breath. "How are you?" he inquired of Spock.

"Well enough, though I am running a fever."

"Infection?"

"So Dr. Trice has confirmed."

David shook his head in disbelief, his lips narrowing with disgust. "Just makes it more important that we get off this planet. There are three Vulcans here now who do not belong. Three and a half, if you count your son."

"I agree, we must leave as soon as possible."

"Not much we can do, as long as the transporter is out and Trice refuses to put you in a contemporary conveyance. We can hope that the Vulcans on that ship aren't harboring any ill will towards you and are willing help."

"It would seem unlikely they would refuse, since they quite possibly require our aid in returning to our time. Have you gotten any more information from T'Pring?"

David shook his head. "Tighter than an Aldeberan Shell Mouth. She's not talking. Madder than hell also."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? It would seem illogical for her to be angry, let alone angry that she has been restricted, since she is responsible for the situation."

"Maybe she didn't take into account all of the ramifications of her actions, like the possibility of being stranded. Maybe she was just too blinded by her hate to think it through logically."

"That would seem uncharacteristic of T'Pring, at least the T'Pring I have known. Everything she has ever done, including instigating the Referendum Resolution, was done with aforethought and logic."

David shrugged. "Maybe Janeen was right. We talked some while she was in labor. She's of the opinion that T'Pring is insane."

"I would agree," Sarnek said. "This entire action speaks of a loss of reason and logic. She has forgotten her disciplines and given way to emotion."

"In the extreme, it would appear," David conceded.

"Insane or not, when we return to our time, she will stand trial for what she has done."

"As she should, my Lord."

"You will testify?"

"It is my duty to insure that she can not repeat this action on you or anyone else in the future. I will testify."

"You do realize the possible penalties should she be found guilty?"

"I do, my Lord. There are but two crimes for which Vulcan still holds death as punishment - willful murder and the interference of a marriage bond. T'Pring is guilty of one, and likely to be charged with attempted murder. She put the lives of ten people at risk, nine of them Vulcan citizens."

"Ten citizens," Spock corrected. "My wife was granted citizenship shortly after our marriage. And do not forget Cmdr. McFey, who risked his life to save mine when my marriage bond was broken. That makes it eleven."

Sarnek bowed his head. "I stand corrected, my Lord."

"We have to return home first though, before we can worry about trials and such," David reminded the other two. Trice, having given his report, came back over and handed the communicator back to David.

"Doctor, I would like to attempt a healing trance. Since we do not know exactly when we might return to the ship, it may give me a chance to avoid further complications."

Trice nodded after a quick consideration. He knew about the healing techniques that Vulcans used. From the days when they were a warrior race, they'd employed the trance to survive wounds when aid was too far away to be rendered quickly. Such trances utilized the Vulcan's ability to concentrate all of their energies on the wound and if not repair it, at least stave off deterioration. Trances were extremely intense. "All right, what do I need to do?"

Spock glanced to Sarnek. "You are familiar with the technique?"

"I am."

"Then there is nothing for you to do, Doctor. Sarnek is capable of assisting."

"How long will it take?"

"I cannot tell you. It depends upon the severity of the wound. Since you have already 'repaired' the injury, I will concentrate on fighting the infection."

"I will still have to correct this primitive surgery once we get back on the ship."

"Agreed. I am uncomfortable with the notion that there are animal guts inside me. I would prefer to have them removed."

"You want to do the trance now?"

"I would like to see my wife first."

"And maybe something to eat? You haven't eaten in over a day." Trice lifted a hand before Spock could argue. "And none of that 'Vulcans can go without' nonsense. That only applies to healthy Vulcans, and you are far from healthy right now."

"I will agree to your caveat."

"All right, let me get you unhooked from the IV," he granted, leaning over to take Spock's hand. He stopped the flow of the fluids and with a twist, disengaged the tubing. "You're still well below your normal blood volume, so I'll put you back on the IV while you're in the trance. Once this unit is through, I'll take you off it for a while, see how it goes. Depends on how well you control the infection."

Two sets of hands helped him to rise, but once on his feet he was able to move on his own. Remembering where Janeen's bedroom was, he waited outside the door for a moment, listening. She was softly singing, the lullaby he had taught her, her voice sweet and pure, content. Drawn like a moth to a flame, he followed the sound.

She was seated in a rocking chair. He'd not noticed it last night, but then, his eyes had been only for his wife as he stood in the doorway. Janeen had changed from the nightgown he remembered seeing yesterday. Her hair was brushed and shining, draping her shoulders in gentle waves. The chair creaked as she rocked back and forth. She held Salec in her arms, the child nursing at her breast.

For a split second, the jealousy Spock had felt the day they'd learned she was pregnant surged. He had to share her now, on a more intimate level than before in a way he could not participate. She had borne this child in her body and was sharing the fruits of her body with him. His relationship with his wife had changed, her affections would be divided for many years and it was only natural for him to feel extraneous.

But as quickly as the feeling came, it fled. This was his child, also of his body. Spock could sense the love she held for him through that bond that had existed before their marriage. There was no danger of her sacrificing what they had in favor of the child. And while the child had to come first for the first few years, eventually, he would grow up, become more independent, and leave to pursue his own life. Only her focus had shifted slightly. She was still his, in all ways.

She continued to sing as he came closer, David moving a chair nearer before departing. The human recognized the bonding time they needed now, to find themselves as three instead of two, to form a family unit. David knew from the mind meld he'd shared with Spock that Spock had despaired of ever having his wife and child again. This was still surreal for the Vulcan, he needed time to recognize the permanence of this reality.

Spock kissed her before he sat carefully, reaching out with a finger to stroke Salec's cheek. "He nurses well?" he asked softly.

Her smile broadened. "Oh, very well."

"I did not thank you for giving me a son, C'thanae."

She freed a hand to caress along his jaw. "I'd do it a hundred times over just to see this look on your face."

"I regret that I could not keep my promise to you, to help you through the pregnancy. I shall miss that the rest of my life."

"It wasn't your fault, and there will be another time, I'm sure, for you to experience all of the wonderful things you missed." She ticked them off, her eyes shining in amusement. "Like bloating, and vomiting, and weight gain, and cravings, and the hormones…"

"Enough," he pleaded. "Or Salec will be our only child."

She laughed lightly. "Husband, you have nothing to apologize for and everything to be happy about. It was a terrible thing that was done to us, and we'll need time to recover, but we have our son and surely he is the bright spot where we need to focus."

"Indeed, wife. And there _will_ be another time," he agreed. "A daughter would be pleasant."

"Um," she allowed hesitantly, "just maybe not right away." Transferring the baby to her shoulder, she began to pat his back gently. She studied her husband with a critical eye. "How are you this morning?"

"I am not as well as I would like. I am running a fever. Dr. Trice has agreed to allow me to attempt a healing trance."

"Is it dangerous?"

"As with all things medical, there is always the possibility. But it is all I know to do to aid in my recovery until we reach the ship."

"What about the V'irigi? Can't they help?"

"Capt. Tremaine has been unable to raise them. They are avoiding the Arkansas. Perhaps they suspect that they will suffer repercussions for their part in your kidnapping."

"They were totally innocent," she argued. "T'Pring held a phaser to the pilot's head. I'm sure she would have killed him, and anyone else, who did not comply."

"They were six to one."

She shook her head vehemently. "No, they were two to one, and she was armed. She waited until most of the Vulcans were in a rest period before making her move."

"Did you not realize what was happening?"

"No, not until it was too late. She had it planned out well. Then, as soon as we started to go back in time…" Her expression clouded.

He cupped her cheek. "You survived. As you said, we have our son and he is our focus."

"There was one bright spot from all of this."

He was floored. Something positive from this experience? In his mind, no matter how you worked the equation, it always came up negative. "Indeed?" he asked, two eyebrows disappearing into his hair. "Explain."

"I finished that composition for Jason. Won't he be surprised if we go back and only a few days or weeks have passed?"

"The least of our worries, I assure you, wife." He frowned. "Where is your wedding ring?" he asked, taking her left hand and pulling it to where he could see it better.

She went from semi-smug to contrite in a heartbeat. "I had to sell it. We had no money and it was the only thing of value we had."

"To whom did you sell it, and for what price?"

"A jeweler on Bond Street, Creighton and Son. We were given five thousand pounds for it."

Spock did the figures in his head. "It was undervalued," he decided. "I shall have David inquire as to buying it back, if they still have it."

"You don't need to. I don't mind if you can't get it back," she protested.

"I do," he interrupted. "Do any of the servants know the location of this jeweler?"

"They all should be able to find it."

"Then while I am in the trance, one of them will take David to inquire after the ring. Once we have transporter capability, either one of the ships can beam down enough gold to pay for the ring."

Salec burped. "Good one, little man," Janeen congratulated, lifting him from her shoulder. "Here, go to your daddy," she instructed, passing the child over.

"Daddy?" Spock asked, perplexed, settling the baby in his arms as David had shown him yesterday.

"Well, he's a little young for 'father,' and I don't think you'll care much for 'dada.' So it's daddy, unless you can think of something else?" she hinted.

"_Sa-mekh _is the Vulcan word."

She laughed. "Even harder than father. We'll find something, but until then, deal with daddy. It's what you are now."

A daddy. A dad. Father. _Sa-mekh_. It was a concept he was getting around in his brain, one he'd never thought possible, not at his age. But he held the reality in his arms, a small squirming bundle of flesh and bone that hiccupped, whimpered, and then let out a wail, showing toothless gums. He turned pleading eyes to his wife. She was levering herself out of the rocker, but turned to smile affectionately. "Talk to him, let him get to know your voice."

"What do I say?"

"Anything. Tell him about random particle physics. He won't care, but the sound of your voice, the tone, will soothe."

"Where are you going?"

"Right here," she indicated, standing at the dresser. "Your son needs a diaper change." Opening a drawer, she removed a white material which she set on the bed.

"He is my son when he needs a clean diaper?" Spock asked as she moved to the bathroom. "When is he your son?"

"When he's behaving himself," she said from the bathroom. Had Spock been capable, he would have let her know just what he thought of her reply with a rude noise. Instead, he merely lifted an eyebrow in a 'really?' sort of way, glancing down at his son as if the child could explain the workings of his mother's mind. From the bathroom, she brought a washcloth, which she took to the fireplace. In a kettle hanging by the grate, she poured warmed water on the cloth, the dregs dripping into a bucket beneath. Wringing out the cloth, she brought the two items closer.

"Show me," he insisted when she would have taken Salec. If he could not have helped her while she was pregnant, he would make it a point to help her now, he decided, as he followed her instructions, quickly changing the infant who had, indeed, quieted at the sound of his father's voice.

David knocked on the door, entering upon the invitation. "There's breakfast, if you're interested."

"Where?" Janeen asked.

"Sarnek said in the upstairs parlor?"

"Down the hall. We'll be there in a moment."

Sarnek, David and Trice were already ensconced in chairs when the couple joined them, Janeen carrying Salec. A cradle by one of the chairs was where she settled Salec, steering her husband to sit closest to his son. Sarnek rose to fix a plate for the new mother as she seated herself while David took care of portioning out a plate for Spock.

"David," he said after taking some of the meal, an egg and potato omelet, seasoned with onion and other spices, "when you are through, would you please take one of the servants and go to a Creighton and Son jeweler on Bond Street to inquire after Janeen's wedding ring? She sold it when they came planetside. I would like for her to have it back."

"You want me to buy it?"

"You do not have the funds at the present. Once one of the ships provides us with transporter capability, we can request gold to use as funding." Sudden inspiration hit. "Do we still have the money that Capt. Tremaine gave me?"

"Yes. It's in your room."

"Then use that to make a deposit on the purchase, if they still have the ring."

"They probably do," Janeen spoke up. "Only the ton and haute monde would have the readily available funds to make such an extravagant purchase."

" 'High world?' " Spock queried.

"Rich and royal or titled," she explained. "Actually, I, or rather we, have been called one of them."

"Explain," Spock demanded.

"All servants talk, and ours are no different. When word got out we had money, and believe me, five thousand pounds is a lot of money here, we became the '_entretien de la ville,_' the talk of the town. We were rich, it didn't help that Sarnek referred to me as Lady Spock, and I turned down every invitation that came through our door. Then, once I started teaching music, a profession which, I assure you, people with money do not do in this period, rumors spread even more."

David cocked an eyebrow at her. "We really have to get you out of here," he commented. She tossed him a puzzled look. "Your accent is thicker and I've noticed that you're speaking like the servants, with their colloquialisms."

She grinned. "When in Rome…"

"Now, honestly, did you know what the 'ton' and 'haute monde' were before you came here?"

"Absolutely not. There's a lot I've learned from this experience. Mostly, to never take anything for granted, for you can lose it in the snap of your fingers."

Timmons appeared at the entrance to the parlor, bowing from the waist. "Your pardon, my Lord."

"Yes, Mr. Timmons?"

"You have a visitor. He asked me to tell you…" he started and looked ceiling ward to remember the wording correctly, "_Nam-tor nash-veh Savon_," he finished, hoping he'd gotten it right.

Spock leaned back into the wing backed chair in which he was seated, surprise crossing his features. "Send him in," he requested.

"Very good, my Lord."

Spock took a deep breath. This planet was becoming inundated with Vulcans. He sent Sarnek a questioning look. "You know this Savon?"

"He is the captain of the V'irigi."

With another deep breath, Spock brought his sudden rising anger under control. All evidence aside, this man was responsible for his wife's welfare and predicament. Had T'Pring held a phaser to his head, he would have chosen death over committing a crime, even if it meant that T'Pring would have killed Janeen in the long run. But he had to accept that he did not have the entire story from Savon himself, and until then, he had to keep his emotions in check.

This Vulcan was not exactly typical of the race. He was tall, but more stocky and heavily built than most males, though he did have the dark brown eyes and hair so common among their people. He wore a black pair of trousers and dark purple shirt, all under a short black cloak. He scanned the people he saw as he entered the room, not concealing his surprise at the infant sleeping peacefully in a cradle next to the ambassador. T'Pring had not informed him that a child was involved. That made his crime all the more heinous.

He took a position in front of Spock, going onto one knee. "S'haile," he said, in Vulcan, "_Nam-tor nash-veh Savon, V'irigi ang'jmizn_. _Ki'sarlah nash-veh ni'droi_.." '_I have come to ask your pardon for my part in the abduction of your wife and beg your aid in returning to our time.'_

Spock waved him to stand. "Speak Terran, so all may understand," he ordered. "How is it that T'Pring managed to carry out her plan when you could have prevented it?"

"We are but a crew of six, S'haile. She took control of the ship when all but myself and my pilot were in a rest period. She locked the rest in their quarters. She then held a phaser to the head of my pilot. I could not allow her to kill him." Savon hung his head. "He is my son," he whispered.

Now Spock could understand. He would have made the same choice, if it had been between himself, a stranger and his son. Salec squirmed, waking, making a whimpering noise. Spock set his dish aside and picked him up, holding him close against his chest. "Shh, _sa-fu t'nash-veh." _Janeen had been right, the sound of his voice, the rumble of it in his chest and against the baby's body, quieted him. "Very well," he granted. "Your ship is damaged?"

"Yes, S'haile. We can maintain orbit and have life support, but we can not return to our time."

"Can you dock with the Arkansas?"

"No."

"But you have transporter?"

"Yes, S'haile."

"Then you must scuttle your ship, salvage what you can and transport it to the Arkansas. We will use your ship to beam up, then beam over to the Arkansas from there. Your ship we will take with us as far as the sun, and drive it into the sun as we pass."

"S'haile?" he questioned, alarmed. Destroy his ship? It was incomprehensible. The V'irigi had been his first command, his for over twenty Earth years. And now, it appeared, his last. Vulcan Space did not readily forgive mistakes and this was a big one.

"The V'irigi can not be left in orbit, abandoned. When its orbit decays, it will eventually fall to Earth. Nothing can remain of our trip here, except for memories, which should fade over time. You are unaware, Savon, but when you brought my wife back in time, history was changed. The Federation and Starfleet did not exist." Spock shook his head. "We can not allow any physical trace of our existence to remain when we leave."

The captain's shoulders sagged, but he acquiesced. "It will be as you instruct, S'haile."

"Do you have any _kin-tukh _on board?"

"Yes."

"Commander McFey will confer with you. We will need the equivalent of five thousand English pounds plus twenty per cent. If you do not have that much, ask the Arkansas, they can supply the balance." He shifted the baby slightly. "I would also like for you to take T'Pring back with you when you return. The sooner she is in custody on the Arkansas and off this planet, the easier I will feel." Spock's head tilted. "Why did she not remain with you on board?"

"She insisted on beaming down to follow your wife, S'haile. I explained that if she left, she was not welcomed back. She is a traitor to Vulcan, and to you, S'haile."

"Agreed. I will speak with Capt. Tremaine about your accompanying us on the Arkansas. I do not believe he will argue with me on this." He turned his gaze to David. "We have an errand which must be completed before we can leave."

"Then I'd best be getting ready," the other commented, setting his dish down and rising. He left the room to fetch his coat.

Spock spoke to Savon again. "Plan on finishing your transfers by planet's morning tomorrow."

"It shall all be done as you order, S'haile." Recognizing a dismissal when it was given, the captain bowed and left the room, David catching up to him as he reached the top of the stairs.

"Doctor, if I am to do a healing trance, it must be now."

"Let me get my tricorder."

Spock lifted his son high enough in his arms to cuddle the boy's soft scalp against his cheek, pressing a kiss to the baby's head before he passed Salec to his mother. He pushed himself from the chair as Janeen met him. "Spock?" she questioned warily.

"It will be all right," he promised. "You have my word."

With her hand at the back of his head, she pulled him close to kiss. "_Taluhk nash-veh k'dular_," she whispered.

"As I do you," he answered.


End file.
